Of Rangers, Wolves, and the Freezing Winter
by KryHeart and Ardy
Summary: As winter approaches, old whispers stir and what were once mere legends crawl back into the world, but even legends merely scratch the surface. The Cold draws near, the blood boils in the deep. The Brewing draws much to this old land, such as a Wolf and a Ranger. Witcher 3, All Elder scrolls, A Song of Fire and Ice crossover.
1. Chapter 1

In Cold Waters

"What is it?" ask Jon as he stood staring at the disemboweled dear on there path.

"Mountain lion?" Theon guessed.

"No mountain lions in these woods." Eddard Stark shook his head slowly as he spoke lowly. He glanced around the deer and found a trail of blood, and massive foot prints from no beast he knew off. He led his party away from the road, down a trail to a stream.

Finally he saw the cause of the blood though not the foot prints as he knelled beside a huge grey direwolf, five pups mewing at her belly.

"It's a freak." Theon said.

"Its a dire wolf." Ned said, looking to his company. "Its an awful waste." He pulled a long piece of wood from the Direwolfs' throat, it was shaped oddly like a finger, gnarled and twisted.

"There are no Direwolves south of the wall." Robb said.

"Now there are five." Jon picked up a puppy and offered it to Bran. "Do you want to hold it."

Bran took the puppy. "Where will they go?" The young boy of ten asked. "Their mother is dead."

"They don't belong here." Rodrik Cassel said.

"Better a quick death, they won't last long without their mother." Eddard said and Theon jumped down the hill to the puppies.

"Right give it here." Theon said blade drawn.

"No!" Bran said cuddling the pup to his chest.

"Put away your blade." Robb growled.

"I take orders from your father not you." Theon said.

"Please Father." Bran pleaded.

Ned shook his head. "I'm sorry Bran."

"Lord Stark, there are five pups. One for each of the Stark children," he paused for a breath. "The Direwolf is the signal of your house, they were meant to have them."

Everyone looked to Ned, he breathed deeply twice and sighed. "You will train them yourselves, you'll feed them yourselves and if they die. You'll bury them yourselves." He turned away and Jon handed two puppies to his brother, how gave them to Theon then took two more.

"What about you?" Bran asked.

"I'm not a Stark." Jon said.

Jon started back up the path when he heard a mew and speak, his half brother Robb heard it as well.

"What is it?" he asked sharply.

From under the roots of a tree Jon pulled out a small white pup.

"Runt of the litter, that on is yours Snow." Theon said snidely.

Jon looked at his puppy then back at the tree, the water ran pale red with blood.

"My Lord!" Jon called out and leaped into the stream and started to charge up it.

"Jon!" Ned called but was force to follow, though he had to make his way back down the hill first.

The steam was cold and Jon made his way up it, around the bend beyond the bridge. The water grew steady redder as he moved upwards. The sight in the water stopped him in his tracks.

It was a woman, their was no question of that given her nude form, but her skin was the colour of ash and she had deep red hair so dark as to be almost black. Deep gashes covered her back and legs, as that was the only part of her Jon could see. Ned caught up to him at this point, "Jon." he growled but then followed his sons gaze.

They both stared for a moment having never heard of an ashen skin people before. The rest of the company caught up and fell into the same pattern. Ned drew his sword and slowly approach the figure, Jon followed suit.

Gently he turned her over to lay on her back, more deep gouges covered her torso.

"Is it dead?" Theon asked.

Ned leaned over and listened from a breath, he was about to say no when a very slight breeze tickled his cheek.

"Her chest moved!" Jon said and was already pulling his cloak off.

Wasting no more time Ned picked up the small woman and Jon wrapped his cloak around her.

He ran back the way he had come, he past the woman off to Jon, mounted his steed and they raced back to Winterfell.

* * *

Herian felt strange when she awoke, warm, that was rather odd. She hadn't expected to awaken, the last thing she could remember was trying to fight off that forest spirit. That poor direwolf and her pups. In seconds the fog was gone form her eyes and she shot upright with a shout. "The pups! Oww." she hissed and pressed a hand to her stomach, her back was equally painful but she couldn't do anything about that.

"Easy easy." Jon jumped from his set beside the window and pressed her back into the bed, pulled the furs up. "The pups are safe, here." He picked his small white pup Ghost from the floor and put it beside her.

Herians' fingers found the pup and it squeaked happy under her pets. "Sorry about your Mom little one. That was one nasty fight."

Jon pulled up his chair. "What were you fighting? The Maester was amazed that you are alive."

Herian thought for a moment, her mind was foggy. "I never got a good look, it was dark and it got my eyes early in the fight." She winced as she breathed a bit to deeply.

Jon couldn't hid his disappointed expression. "I should go get my Lord, he will want to know you have awakened." He all but ran from the room.

Ghost squeaked at him as he went, Jon came back and gave it a pet. Promised to be back in a minute, then tore from the room.

Herian smiled at the pup. "Picked that one have you?" the elf stroked it behind an ear. "He seems a nice enough sort."

She pulled her legs up and turned herself to sit on the edge of the bed and winced again. "Shit." she muttered and resisted the urge to heal herself as best she could, she could smell magic on the boy but it was faint. Wobbing to her feet and slowly stretched taking stock of her injuries. Her back was a mess that much she could tell, her stomach had three large claw-marks as well as a few on her thighs. The cuts on her brow had healed while she had slept, and she could feel all her wounds ooze slowly. With that Herian guessed that she had only been out for a few hours. Beyond her bandages she wore nothing, it probably wasn't a concern of whoever saved her at the time; and they would get in the way of healing.

Glancing down, Herian trailed one of her hands along the side of her leg. The elf grimaced, while her back and front had suffered the worst of the injuries, the rest of her body had not been so easily spared. Shallow cuts and slashes marred the woman's bare flesh from head to toe. Claw marks and thin slits along her skin, where literal pieces of meat had been torn from her flesh. It was like a rusty, metal fishing hook had been plunged into her skin and ripped out without care.

Herian ran her hand through her hair with a sigh, "What a bother."

None of the wounds were fatal, not even close; they were closer to a merger paper-cut, like something one got when accidentally running their hand across a piece of parchment. They would heal swiftly. It was just going to be a pain to deal with in the meanwhile.

Whilst the woman examined her beaten body, a door opened on the opposite side of the room.

Two sets of hefty boots marched through a large wooden door. Jon followed his father in, much to the delight of the tiny white wolf. It wagged its tail happily, as if it had been several hours since they had last seen each other. In front of the youth, Eddard Stark entered the chamber, still clothed in leather, with a large imposing sword sheathed upon his waist.

His expression was stern, serious, but not to the point of appearing cold like the winds outside. The colossal Stark turned his gaze toward Herian and gave her a quick once over. His stare did not last as long as Jon's had, but it remained for a short moment.

"Well," he mused, "If you are standing, then it seems your wounds weren't as severe as those in my company had described."

Herian turned her gaze from herself and took to the man in front of her. She recalled Jon's earlier words. He had gone to fetch his lord, which spoke much of the man if such words were to be believed.

"I heal fast," she nodded and crossed her arms, "And if I am to assume you are who had plucked me from those icy waters, then I thank you for the rescue."

Eyes unchanging, Ned lightly nudged his head to the side with amusement. "You assume much. In truth, it was Jon here, who had found you. Without him, the fishes would likely be having quite the feast at this very moment, as would the worms."

Such a grim fate to be certain. Not of the worst though, even up in the North, one such as Ned could recall much more gruesome outcomes; that could have befell some poor sod, each worse than the last. In fact, some were of the level where bleeding out in an icy stream could be considered a mercy in some ways.

"Ah, but this your Keep if I were to guess that as well, and thus, it is you I owe my thanks." Herian insisted.

Ned frowned, rather committed this one. "If you are so certain," he noted, "But thanks aside, it is good to see you are of good condition. Many of my house were almost certain you weren't long for this world. Those wounds had been rather grave, if I may."

Glancing down at herself, Herian's lips curled into a frown.

The worst of her wounds aside, many of the bloody injuries had healed back from the grave wounds they had been. Even so, the gravity of such scars were obvious to anyone whose eyes even brushed over them. It's hard to blame someone for thinking such thoughts after she was fished out of the icy waters. She was lucky they hadn't thrown her into a hole the moment she was seen by all.

"Though, I'm afraid that I am getting ahead of myself." Ned noted, shifting subjects.

"While Jon has briefed me on what had happened upon that muddy marsh, I'm afraid the subjects of names has been rather absent from our introductions."

Herian blinked, "Oh, of course."

In her concern for the pups, the act of actually introducing herself had completely slipped her mind. The matter of waking up after being mauled by a savage beast and left for dead in an icy creak weighed heavily on one's mind. Still, the elf felt it rather rude to greet those she owed her life to without a name of any kind.

That had to be corrected, rather swiftly. Bowing her head, the young woman turned to the two men of House Stark and crossed both her arms. "I go by Herian Indoril." she greeted, "Guest to your house, and thankful for your hospitality."

In the rather quaint guest room, Herian's voice echoed forth with a feeling of sincerity and gratefulness. Her tone was that of someone who knew of the position she was in, and yet, was happy. Happy to be alive, and grateful to those who had saved her from the watery grave that was almost a guarantee if not for their efforts.

Across the woman, outwardly Ned showed very little reaction to the greeting. His bearded face held firm, still as stern and serious as he had been upon entering. He was somewhat like a wall, similar to the stone that protected them from the chilly embrace of nature, but inwardly, the man was surprised. Not by her choice of words, but the feeling behind it. It was strange, yet not unpleasant.

Ned nodded, "A very interesting name you have there. I cannot say I have heard of many like it."

Herian grinned and said. "I am named for my Sire, a great Khajiit hunter."

Neds' lips turned slightly at the corner at her strange word, but when on to say. "Greetings go two way I suppose." he noted with a slight chuckle, "I am Ned Stark, of House Stark. I am aware that you are already acquainted with Jon Snow."

To the Lord of House Stark's side, Jon gave a slight bow at the mention of his name. Oddly, the small white pup at his feet did the same, though unaware of the importance of such a gesture.

Herian inhaled deeply and asked. "Why does he not share your name? He smells of your blood."

Similar to the sound of a brick shattering against the stone ground below, the two men of House Stark stopped abruptly at the question, as off handed and curious as it was.

Jon turned his gaze downward, suddenly overcome with the urge to look away. His gaze fell upon the small pup that now stood next to his feet. It had scampered over him during the commotion that followed Ned's arrival.

Of the man himself, Ned's steely gaze faltered, if just for a moment. It was as if he had been slapped in the face, though the hand behind it was too weak to make him flinch.

"That is," he muttered, "a topic not for this time."

Herian lips turned up and her brow wrinkled. "As you wish, though I do not grasp why both of you look like you've been punched in the gut." The elf rolled a shoulder, trying to get the stiffness to alleviate. "If you have questions ask, I will answer to the best of my abilities."

Ned sighed, grateful for the change in subject; at his side, Jon did the same. Neither wished to discuss such matters with someone they had picked up off the streets. They got enough of that as it was, though on the matter of questions to ask, Ned scratched his chin.

"Will you now?" he mused, "That is good, for I do have a few. One for example, is the matter of how you are standing here before me to begin with."

"Eh, a few different means mostly, hmm I do not even know if your kind has them." Herian splayed her fingers over her chest. "I am a Hound of Hircine, lycanthrope or werewolf if that means more to you. It gives me great resistance to cold and the ability to heal from what would be fatal woulds to a man." The elf massaged her shoulder again. "That damn Leshen, at least I think it was a leshen." she frowned thinking on what she remembered.

Jon blinked, he spared his direwolf up a small glance. The tiny creature merely crooked its head to the side confusingly, as if asked a strange question. "I'm sorry, did you say, werewolf?" he asked. The boy's words felt as confusing to him as they sounded out in the open. What exactly could that have meant-

Ned spoke up, "I am sorry, but did you say Leshen?"

Herian started undoing the bandages around her middle and cut the ones on her back with a half formed claw. "Leshens are, hmm put simply blood thirsty tree spirits. Very territorial it and the Direwolf mother were fighting over a deer, I intervened. I gave as good as I got, so hopefully you won't have to worry about it. On the other hand if it does come back, I recommend steel swords plated with silver. As for your comment Jon." She stepped away from the bed and pulled her wolf forth.

Her limbs twisted and length-ed, rib change expanded, face elongated as the soft elven features turned into a wolfs features, lastly her skin split open and her was covered in grey fur, with a long wide gold strip down her back and arms. The timber wolf, werewolf raised its head to howl but no sound came forth. Her wounds healed in seconds, leaving perfect fur in their wake.

Though the air, the sound of splitting bones and stretching muscles wrecked the minds of the two men in the room. Jon's jaw dropped like an anvil, whilst his father's eyes shot open with shock. Father and son swiftly reached for their swords and took a large step back, near the point where their backs would hit the wall behind them.

Fear, shock, surprise. All almost overwhelmed the duo, to the point of near non-comprehension.

Oddly, Ghost didn't seem too shocked. The small direwolf looked up at the creature in front of the three with wide eyes, befitting of the young pup that it was.

Standing in front of the Stark men was a colossal werewolf, a wolf-ish creature standing on its hind-legs with sharp teeth, claws like sharpened daggers, and eyes that could scare an entire legion of men away as if they were but babes lost in the woods. It was something that neither men could find words to describe for nearly a minute or so.

Ned clamped his hand around his blade's hilt, if just to calm himself. "Well," he mused, "that certainly is one way to answer a question."

The wolf let out a barking laugh, a hand came up to press against its chest in a human like gesture. She moved forward to stand arms as well and lowered her head to the ground. The timber wolf let out a great soft rumbled and Ghost with a happy squeak bounded over and rubbed a cheek against hers. After a moment she stood and pulled the wolf back in, the shift back took a moment longer and looked more painful. Ghost zipped back over to Jon.

Herian half collapsed back against the bed, chest heaving for breath. She swallowed thickly then said. "I figured it would best to show you something rather then try and convince you with words."

"Yes," Ned noted, "That's, certainly would have been much more difficult to be sure."

After witnessing the sight of a woman transforming into a massive fur covered beast and back, the Head of House Stark spared a glance at his son. Jon had remained standing despite his shock. The boy's arms and legs shook wildly, and his grip refused to release his sword.

Regardless of asking the very question himself; the boy looked terrified, Ned couldn't blame him, not one bit. Legends of the White Walkers were less bone chilling than what he and his son had just witnessed. To think Ned thought the Walkers were just a myth!

Shaking his head, the Stark took a deep breath and relinquished his grip over his weapon. Faster than his son could, Ned calmed down the best he could. Whilst he hadn't transformed into something like his elf guest had, the man's nerves were practically trembling under his skin.

Again, a rather reasonable response.

Eventually though, Ned calmed himself down and sighed, "So then, you are one of these, Lycanthropes, as you called yourself?"

"Aye, a child of Hircine he is the Daedric Prince though you would call him God of the hunt." Herian pulled a fur from the bed around herself, she was fine with changing one way, but back and forth without eating between. That was exhausting, she could feel the cold creeping in and she was starving.

Ned raised a brow, "So you say? I'm afraid I'm not too familiar with such titles."

In the land of Westeros, there were many legends and tales of beings, many of which were vast and different. There were the dragons, the creatures of the North, legends of people who could become closer to creatures than even skinchangers could...

Ned could not recall anything like a Daedric Prince. Though oddly, the name did not fill him with any sort of relief. The name sounded, ominous and a bit crazy too. Though given the current times of the land, that wasn't uncommon.

Herian chuckled and waved a hand tiredly. "Well if the colour of my skin didn't give me away, as not from here, I'm not sure what will." She tapped her chin with a finger. "Think of Daedric Princes as Gods that will actually respond on occasion if you give an appropriate offering. For example for Azura, she is the Daedric Prince of Dawn and Dusk, you would offer her ectoplasm. If she has a task for you she would speak to you, sometimes appear before you, others just talk in your head." she chuckled. "Though my family rarely needs to talk to her, my grandmother is her champion. She is rather on a first name bases with the Prince. Oh." she slapped her forehead. "We call them Prince but they pick which sex they wish to appear in. Azura is always female, Hircine male, Mephala will change to who she is trying to use. Uhh. Hmm." she looked at the two males. "None of this making any sense to you is it?"

Ned blinked, "Not particularly."

Jon stared forward, a numb expression on his face. The young youth glanced down at his white pup and gave it a confused look. The little hound merely glanced back with a similar expression. Ghost was about as close to understand what was going on as Jon was, and Ghost was a newborn too boot.

"To say that this wasn't the explanation I was expecting would be all too true for words," the elder Stark mused, "At this rate, you're likely to say that you come from beyond the wall-" Suddenly, Ned stopped himself, "Actually, don't answer that."

After that rather expansive fill of information, being known to be from a place stranger and more bizarre than what lies beyond the wall to the North may be too much for one to bear. Jon looked as if he was clueless enough as it was. Poor lad, he had much to learn.

Though this, wasn't was his father had in mind.

Herian giggled at that, a high sweet sound. "Probably wise, if Daedra are a bit much for you my homeland would probably make your mind explode. Any other questions? If its alright with you, I'm hungry and I need to go collect my things. I left them by the road before engaging the Leshen."

Jon blinked, seemingly snapping out of his confused stopper.

"You merely left your belongings along some random roadside, just like that?" he asked, concerned. How easy would it have been for someone to just stumble upon her things and claim them for themselves?

Bandits weren't known around these parts, but anything was possible.

Ned shook her head, "I'd imagine she would have hidden them rather well. Would be troublesome to have some random creature drag off her attire into the night."

"But of course," he noted, turning back toward the elf, "There are more questions to be had, but I can put off my curiosity for now."

As stoic as he appeared, the Stark had many more questions to ask. Herian's answers had done nothing more than bring forth more questions. Though of course, getting some straight answers could be difficult on an empty stomach. That and, she did look cold, for obvious reasons.

Ned frowned, it was a tad odd that the woman hadn't said a thing about her current, lack of attire as of yet. Even the more bold lasses in Westeros would rather mind being bare to the world, especially in the current set of weather.

Days were getting colder, the winds sharper. The summer days had grown much shorter and the painful reminders were harder to ignore. Winter was coming, again after so many years of a peaceful summer. Though to many, even in the North, it was hard to consider things, peaceful.

'Then again, I am talking to someone who just, changed into a beast even direwolfs paled in comparison to,' he inwardly sighed, 'What a bothersome day its been.'

Finding the direwolfs had already sparked a rather big change, but this? It was things like this that made Ned miss the North, least he could comprehend the things that happened up there. Down in the south, things just felt off; he glanced at his guest again.

Herian drew the furs around her a bit better, normally she didn't get cold. Perk of being a werewolf, but between fighting, healing and two shifts, the energy that usually kept her warm was long gone. She watched Ned, trying to work out what he was thinking, the elf thought it must be very strange. His people didn't believe in magic, he must be trying to figure out what it all means. The elf felt her ears twitch forward when he frowned, she felt blush creep up into her cheeks. She loved her ears, they were endlessly useful, but Khajiit mixed with just about any other race, much less a dark elf. Was very rare, so she had little quirks, her ears occasionally reflected her mood.

Her features were much softer then a normal dark elf; she even had that extra bone in her throat, that let her purr. The man before her was a confusing he looked like a Nord but if all the furs he was wearing was any indicator. He had no magic, and yet she could smell it on him, but she couldn't tell what type. As humans go, he was very confusing, from what she had gleamed from most of the humans. Was that they were more likely to cut her head off because she was different then save her life. She shuddered think how werewolves were usually treated, though it had been better since the Nerevarine had devoted a section of her army to werewolves. Her grandmother had described them as the 'ultimate cavalry', plus werewolves in armour were terrifying. Rather then comment, she decided to watch the human male.

Ned ran his hands over his face. Thoughts weren't going to give the man anymore answers. The Stark knew that merely grumbling over his confusions would only make them worse. If he were to find his answers, he'd have to do it the hard way. Though this time, without the use of Ice, his colossal Vaylairan greatsword.

The man settled his gaze back on the trembling woman. He sighed, "Jon."

"Yes sir?" the youth replied.

"Go fetch some food for our guest, and a cloak as well." Ned told him. He then turned back his gaze back to the elf. The woman still sat on the bed, clutching the fur from the bed.

"I won't assume your size of attire, but something to help would the cold seems more appropriate than the bedding."

"Yes sir." Jon retreaded from the room Ghost on his heals.

Ned silently watched as his son departed. The raven head youth rushed out of the wooden door with a purpose, as did the small pup that scampered on behind him.

The Stark almost chuckled. The direwolfs had only been with them a short time, and yet even the scamp of the litter had taken a liking over his son.

"Thank you." Herian said and asked. "Where am I? Forgive my ignorance but side from the occasional hiding in a corner of a tavern. I've avoid your kind."

Shaking his head, Ned glanced at his desk with a nod, "Ah, of course. That I cannot blame you, but this is no merger tavern. You find yourself within Winterfell."

"That would be the castle on the plains? I generally stick to the forests." Herian stated.

"Hm, I see." Ned nodded.

The Stark crossed his arms over his chest. He could understand that, some weren't made for living in massive structures; and given her rather beastual nature, that was even more obvious. A person who could transform into a colossal, wolf-like creature.

"Whilst we wait for the boy to return," Ned mused, "Would you mind if I asked you another question? Not of, where you are from though." There had been enough of that for one day, least in Ned's opinion.

Herian smiled and said. "Fire away, you're the first human that I have meet that I find enjoyment in speaking too."

"A shame that is," Ned sighed regrettably, "But not too surprising."

Even without war, bloodshed often proved much more common than the act of speaking out. Be it in the North, on the Wall, or closer to the South, people rarely spared the effort to talk. Especially for those who they saw as different.

"But that aside, I cannot help but feel curious." he mused, "What are your plans from here? It is thanks to you that we now have many new, rather small additions to my house, and with your," he paused. "unique position, I cannot but wonder."

Herian shrugged. "I would like to find a way to repay you for your kindness as well as your son. But I know very little of what you would need, I can help with the pups if the need arises and I am a bit of blademaster, and a hand to hand combatant. If you don't mind I would like to linger till I figure out how to help, my armour hides all my skin so my race hopefully won't cause you any problems."

"You wish to repay me?" Ned asked, surprised.

Whilst the matter of her debt was obvious, the Stark had not imagined her outright declaring her intent to be so simple. He had imagined the matter would have to be solved through some, bargaining of some kind. Perhaps offering her a place to stay in exchange? That seemed reasonable.

Ned glanced at the ground and sighed, "Whilst your offer to help with the pups is appreciated, that would be rather difficult. Whilst I allowed them to stay within my House, it was only under the matter that my children would solely be responsible for them. They would have to take care of them by themselves, with no assistance of any kind."

It was a fair deal to the Stark. He trusted his kin, and they were a responsible lot. Hell, Jon's pup already seemed to take a liking to the raven haired youth, even if he looked rather confused about the whole thing.

Though, confusion wasn't uncommon when it concerned Jon.

"Why are you surprised?" Herian cocked her head to the side in a very wolf like gesture. "I have no coin to offer, all I have is my skill. I can teach and train, a position comes to mind but I doubt you have a same word or position in your culture." She tucked a stray red lock behind her ear, then she smiled. "I am glad you allowed your children to take the pups and your reasoning is reasonable."

"I just find that the lads need some responsibility," Ned explained, "And some pups will certainly do that. Course, it doesn't help that they are quite good at convincing me."

They certainly had a way with words, that's for sure. Perhaps they got it from their mother or something, or the elders of the past? Hard to guess which sometimes.

"Still, it is not the matter of your skills that I call into question, not at all." he told her, "Really, its more so your eagerness to do so. One does not offer themselves into the house of another without more than merely hoping to repay a debt. Its a rarity, though not one is would go unappreciated."

"Ah." Herian tapped her chin again. "How to put it, I was raised in a place where what you could do, is more important then were you come from. Hence why I offer my skill. Things like debts are taken very seriously, and from my understand of here. Kindness is a rare trait among humans, and should be responded with in kind. You saved my life, I would not really be willing to part ways with you till I've saved yours at least once." She scratched the back of her head. "I don't know, if I were home, I'd already be on a knee asking for permission to pledge myself to you. For you to be my Thane, I don't think you kind has a word that reflects what that means. Think of it as a life bond or pledge, were we at my home, and you a new Thane. I would serve as bodyguard as well as several other things but you already have those things so I won't go into them." Blush crept up into the elfs cheeks. "It probably seems silly to you."

"Not at all." Ned focused his gaze on the woman's face. The Stark's eyes narrowed at the twitches, the shifts, every little way her expression changed. His ears listened closely for a change in tone, a shift in her words. Anything that would help led to any uncertainties.

Lies, misleads, any sort of stretch of the truth she might have been spinning. There was none, not from what Ned could tell.

"All of that is fairly believable, not something I would consider 'silly'." he mused, "If that is how you feel about my involvement in your rescue, then who am I to deny how you feel? That would be rather rude if I were to say no."

Since his time in the North, Ned would say that he was good judge of character. People were rarely sly like snakes. Few like that could live in the frozen wastes of the north. They were a rarity, and often suffered the same fate as those who broke their oath.

Heads placed on a thick piece of wood, and a sliver of steel across the back of their necks.

Yet upon looking at the elf in front of him? The head of House Stark could not in a healthy mind describe her as such. Maybe it was how her eyes reminded him of the beast that played the part of his house's symbol? Either way, it was hard to ignore.

Herian smiled slightly. "Thank you for believing me, not many would." she dipped her head in a bow. "Will you be my Thane? I would be yours to command as you see fit."

The elf hopped off the bed leaving the pelt she had borrowed from it, and knelled before Ned. Her deep red hair tumbled over her shoulders, hiding most of her nudity.

As the woman knelled at his feet, Ned couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed. The man blinked down at the person in front of him, almost at a loss for words.

After a moment though, the Stark chuckled.

"Well, to be truthful, I'll admit that this is not what I had expected to happen when the lad came to fetch me." he mused, "But, how could I deny such a plea?"

The massive man raised his shoulders and straightened his footing. He uncrossed his arms and laid one of his gloves upon the hilt of the massive blade at his side. He did no grip it, but the leather glove rested on the very tip of the grand sword.

Herian said grinning. "Nor did I expect to get my butt handed to be my a Leshen."

"Ah, fair enough." Ned chuckled.

The Stark knew not of what a Leshen was aside Herian's description, but from what he could tell? His future vassal might want some revenge on such a lowly creature, like a hunt that had gotten away after a close call.

Either way, Ned swiftly unsheathed the blade at his side.

Ice. A massive great sword, large for even the most colossal blades. For most knights and warriors of steel, the weapon was impossibly large to wield. It was akin to wielding a massive piece of metal over your shoulder with all one's might. Yet, Ned lifted the blade as if nothing was wrong. Both hands wrapped themselves around the hilt and held it tight, as if it was a normal blade.

The lord of House Stark raised the ancient piece of steal and rested one side against Herain's left shoulder.

"Herian Indoril, child of Hircine. For I know not of the house you come from, nor the lands you hail from, you stand here now, offering thyself to my house."

Herian bowed her head forward, "That I do."

"Under the banner of House Stark, the Wolves of the North, the keepers of the Wall. Under such a banner, thyself would be called upon to stand by those of this house, to fight by the name, to uphold what is known and fight for what is thought of as right in the name of such a banner."

"Are you aware of this?"

The elf nodded once more, "That I do."

"Until thy death or until dismissed from service, your be bound to this banner, forevermore. A wolf among the North's banner, with weapons in hand, steel at the ready, and nerves as cold as the coming Winter."

"Do you vow under this banner? Forever more?"

"I do, my blade, fangs and claws are ours you wield."

Ned gave a sharp nod.

"Very well then."

Raising his blade, the Stark transferred the colossal sword from one of Herain's shoulders to the other. So swiftly that the blade was more of a brief wind, rather than a hunk of steal.

"Then, by the light of this sword, I declare thou under the banner of House Stark, a vassal to myself, and all those who go by the name Stark, in the North and all of Westeros."

"You have my thanks my Thane." She looked up at him with a smile.

Ned chuckled and sheathed his Valarian sword.

"Thane? A particular title. That might take some gettin accustomed to," he mused, "But, I'd imagine it won't be too much of a bother, especially coming from someone such as yourself."

Still bowing before her new lord, Herian had a hard time keeping a smile from appearing on her face. The elf opened her mouth to say something, but just as her lips parted-

Against the chamber's thick wooden door, a sudden knocking filled the room.

Herian shot up from the floor and whipped the fur from the bed.

"Enter." Ned called to Jon.

The youth came carefully through the doorway, a tray of bread and meats in his hands a large black cloak over an arm.

"Food!" Herian beamed grinned, her ears flicked forward, and took the tray from Jon and put it on the end of the bed. She blushed when she released she near shouted. "Sorry, but I am hungry." She hopped back up onto the bed and tore into a chicken drum.

Still standing in the doorway, Jon blinked.

The youth glanced down at his has and clutched the air. He hadn't even felt it as the tray was taken from it. For the young Stark, it was like the tray was there one moment, and the next? It was gone, just like that.

At his feet, Ghost didn't even seem to realize what had happened.

"Huh." he muttered, "Well then."

With the food matter taken care of, Jon lifted the large cloak off its arm and glanced at a nearby chair, "Well, I'll just place this over here, if that is alright?"

Herian nodded and tapped the tray and made an offering gesture to the two men, as she chewed on her piece of meat.

Ned raised his hand and kindly refused. He wasn't hungry.

Jon did much of the same, though his refusal came as a mere shake of the head. For some reason, the young Stark had a feeling he had missed out on a great deal of something. Though he wasn't sure if he wanted to know of WHAT it was.

Whilst the two Stark men respectfully refused the offering, a certain white pup ran up to the side of Herian's bed and looked up. The direwolf's tail wagged playfully and the little one's nose twitched at the smell.

Herian swallowed and grinned at the puppy and swept him up into her lap, the pup jumped off and gazed longingly at the food.

The elf chuckled and made a deep rumbled in her chest, picked up a smaller piece of chicken and offered it with another rumbled.

Ghost gave a happy yip and snatched it from her finger, the two wolves devoured the remaining meats and Herian polished off the bread. Ghost flopped on the bed his little belly expanded, the red head purred and petted the pups' tummy. "He is so cute!" She cooed at him.

Off to the side, Jon chuckled at the pup's affectionate display. "Well, maybe he'll take a better liking to her than me?"

Would be nice if Jon wouldn't be known as the litter of his family due to the tiny white pup that followed him around like lost child.

Whilst the boy watched, the lad's sprawling father marched over to the boy and slapped him on the shoulder. The sudden thud nearly sent Jon stumbling forward with his face smacking into the floor.

Came close though, much to Ned's amusement.

"Were it so easy," he chuckled, "But don't think the pup will be leaving you alone for too long, that's for certain."

"Your father is right pup. I can just talk to dear little Ghost here." She made a lower rumble and the pup got up and sat on the end of the bed and whined. "He wants you to pick him up." Herian said, getting up off the bed with cat like grace and swing the cloak around her shoulder, pull the hood up to mask her face. "Shall we go find my things? I'll need a guide, I have no idea where this place is in relation to where you found me."

"Ah of course," Ned nodded, she had mentioned needing to gather her things.

As he mused on the subject, Jon walked over to the bed and glanced down at the tiny pup. The tiny wolf sat at the very edge of the bed, like a small puff right at the end of the surface's sheets.

Ghost glanced up at its 'master' and tilted its head. Again, the tiny beast let out a whine. Just looking at the creature made Jon sigh. How his brothers and sister could deal with this creatures were beyond him.

He wouldn't admit it outright, after all, in a few years it would be almost unbelievable. But the tiny white pup? It was quite cute when it made such a face-

"Jon."

As if a sword had been pressed against the back of his neck, Jon shot up in an instant, "Yes?"

"Herian requires a guide, and whilst I would do such a task, there are matters here that must be taken care of." Ned told the boy, "Thus, I need you to accompany her to where she needs, understood?"

"Yes Sir." Jon said and picked up Ghost, the pup rubbed its head affectionately against Jons' shoulder, then the youth gestured to the door.

Herian pulled the hood down a bit more. "After you." She have a nod to her Thane, then set off with Jon. The sun was low in the sky and most of the household had retreaded indoors, the pair made their way to the stables. The ride back to the forest was a long one, Herian resisted the urge to put her head on a swivel as they went. Eventually they came to the spot where the Starks had found the dead deer.

"Wait here." Herian hopped off the horse. The elf disliked horses, though it would take an awful lot of convincing to get her to admit it. Herian ran over the edge of the road and Jon watched her scale up a tree, but jumping off of two beside it. He had never seen someone so fast before, how she got the purchase to make the jumps, he could only guess. Finally the elf snagged a large black bag out of the tree and dropped to the ground with a thud, only to move out of his view.

Jon figured she was getting dressed and looked away.

Several minutes later her voice, all but purring drew his gaze back. "Much better." When he turned to look he was stunned yet again.

The Dark Elf wore all black armour, it was perfectly crafted to her and hugged every curve, the plates over her chest curved to meet in the back, thin red lines flowed through the armour, following each plate. The armour did not disguise that the wearer was female, but nor did it flaunt it, the gauntlets ended in sharp claws, the rest of the suit followed the same design. Lastly her helm, was less of a helm and more of a mask. It fit closely with her head and hid all of her skin, the 'face' of the helm mirror hers closely, only cementing the idea that the armour had been made special for her. He could see the blood red hair of hers tumbled out of the bottom.

The elfs weapons made him pause even more, he counted four blades, two on her hips of a make he did not recognize, and two on her back much smaller if the hilts was anything to go by. Lastly was the composite bow also on her back, it was all sharp lines and sweeping curves, with a matching quiver. All the weapons were made out of the same black metal, all had veins of red that glowed softly.

"That wouldn't protect you from the Leshen?" Jon asked eyes wide.

"It slows me down to much, its good stuff but in the Leshen manged to root me. Which it probably would have, then I would be completely dead after the encounter, rather then just mostly dead." She opened the much smaller bag and pulled out a large swath of grey cloth and set about wrapping it over her armour till it disguised her chest and most of the amour. Then pulled out another and wrapped it around her hips; till it over everything to the top of her boots, while still leaving her legs free, then she picked up the cloak she had been given and arranged it to be under her weapons on her back, lastly she set the bag as it still had a few items in it over her chest.

"There." She said with a grin Jon could hear.

"Much better." Jon agreed and had to laugh at the little jumping hop she had to do, to get into the saddle.

"Oh shuss. We don't have horses in my homeland. I can win a race on a Guar, but I'm hopeless with a horse. When I want to get somewhere fast in a hurry I just call out my wolf." The horse shifted under, the elf slid forward in the saddle. "Woow." She patted the horse neck.

"You did fine on the way out." Jon said.

"I was putting on a brave face." Herian admitted.

"Do you need lessons?" Jon asked.

"Pretty please." Herian mewed as the horse shifted again.

They way back was much slower going then the way there, though they did have there steeds going a slow trout rather then a walk. Little did they know, Ned watched the pair come back over the plains, and had to smile as the elf fell from the saddle. Ghost jumping around the pair then ON the fallen elf. Jon would say a few things and she get back up and try again, their laughter filled the courtyard when they arrived.

 **For those that do not know, equivalent term are Lord (Jarl) Thane (Hand/Helper of Jarl) and Housecarl. However, Herian is not recognizing Ned as a Jarl, or addressing him as such. She did not describe her role as a Housecarl because he does not need one. By addressing him as Thane and herself as a bodyguard, she is purposely excluding herself from the hierarchy of King. She is not just a vassal to Stark and therefore the King, she is a separate force.**


	2. Chapter 2

Traitors and Kings

"Come on Jon! High guard on your left." Herian circled her prey, wooden training sword in hand.

"Sorry." Jon uttered and turn to face her again, raising his hand-and-a-half blade.

"And turn with me, not after me." The elf shot forward and lightly wrapped him on his thigh with the flat of her blade. "Bend your knees more. Fluidity of motion is the key, standing still or rocking back and forth will get you killed."

Jon bent his knees lower and struck out with his blade. Herian casually deflected the blade, "Better." she commented and tucked her left hand into the small of her back, then lashed out with two over handed strikes.

Jon blocked the first as it came for his head but the second caught him in his armpit. "Oww."

"Speed over strength Jon." The elf stated calmly.

Bran and Rob watched over to the side and unknown to the combatants, Ned watched from a porch.

With a growl, Jon charged out forward swinging high.

Herian swept her blade behind her back, ducked the blow and stuck her foot out.

Jon tripped and landed in the mud and hay.

The elf chuckled. "Focused speed, I should say." she picked him up but the back of the shirt and dusted him off. "Anger has no place on the battle field, it will get you killed over you just being slow." Herian said with a grin, stepping away she tapped her chin with a metal finger. "We really do need to work on your stance." glancing around and saying. "Horse stance."

Jon fell into a horse stance, knees bent slightly.

Herian picked up a rock and dusted it off, then to everyone's amazement, put it on his head and forced him down till his legs were at a ninety degree angle. "Much better," she purred. "arms up." she put hers out so they were level with her shoulders and touched her thumbs to her forefingers. "There you go."

"Ow." Jon said again.

"Hey, I'm not making you punch water, be grateful." She picked up their blades and put them on the back from whence they came.

"Why would you punch water?" Jon asked trying not to wobble.

"Control mostly, strength as well and it is easier on the bones then punching wood. That comes after." she said with a smirk.

"You punch wood?" Jons' stone wobbled.

"No I punch through stone."

Again the youth could hear the elfs smile, even if the helm she wore masked it.

"Ah, no slouching!" the elf circled the boy and pressed a finger between his shoulder blades. "Pretend you have to hold another stone here."

"What does this accomplish?" Robb asked, boldy.

"It builds strength throughout the body, power comes from the core and legs. Arms are just the catalyst, I can spring into action like I do because my father would make me do what I have done to Jon." she paused and turned to the questioning youth. "For hours on end."

The stone fell from Jons' head, Herian chuckled. "That's enough for now, you are new so I will be kind. But do it again before bed and stretch before you sleep."

"I will." Jon straightened himself out and said. "You're turn Bran."

Herian leaned against the wall to watch Jon and his brother instruct their younger sibling.

Bran stood uneasy with a quiver around his hips and a bow in his hand, looking rather dejected.

"Come on." Jon bent and clapped him on the shoulder. "Father's watching." The pair turned slightly to look up at Ned on his porch. "And your mother."

Ned nodded and smiled down at the two boys.

Herians' cheeks flushed, she hadn't noticed him come out, cursing herself at that. She was being a terribly bodyguard, that said he was safe here and didn't need her services as of yet. The dark elf watched as all four of Brans arrows went wide and the last few clear over the target, with a sign she pulled herself from the wall and spoke softly, though all could hear.

She knelt beside the boy. "You're over compensating. Draw."

Bran did, she moved to kneel behind him. Gently she lowered his elbow so it his arm was straight rather then up high, looked over the shaft with him. "The arrow wants to find the target, look where you want it to go, forget about the wind and weight of it."

Bran lowered the bow a few degrees, "There you go." the elf said quietly. "Now release."

The arrow sung forth and hit the under corner of the white cloth on the target.

Everyone chuckled, but he had hit the target, better then all the other shots.

"Now which one of you was a marksmen at ten?" Ned called out with a booming voice, then spoke softly. "Keep practising Bran, go on."

With a slight boost to his confidence, the elf stepped away and decided it was best not to mention that she had been a marksmen at ten.

"Don't think to much Bran." Jon said leaning down.

"Relax your bow arm." Robb said.

Just before the youth went to fire, another arrow struck the centre of the target. Everyones' gaze snapped around to find Arya with a grin of her face and a bow in her hand. She did a little curtsy and Bran dropped his bow to chase his sister.

"Run faster!" Robb said laughing with his brother.

Herian smiled behind her mask, picked up the bow and put it in the barrel.

"Lord Stark." Rodrik Cassel called from behind the Stark and his wife. They turned to him smiling. "The guardsmen just rode in from the hills, they've captured a deserter from the Nights watch."

The smiles faded from the Lord and Ladies face, Ned signed and nodded to Thoen. "Get the lads to settle their horses." The brunette departed.

"Do you have too?" Lady Stark asked sadly.

"He swore an oath Cat." Ned said grimly.

"The law is the law my lady." Rodrik said.

Catelyn looked away from the two men.

"Tell Bran he is coming too." Ned said and Rodrik also left.

That turned the Ladys' head. "Ned." she said sharply. "Ten is too young to see such things." she shook her head.

"He won't be a boy forever." Ned said lowly, and gazed at his wife's face, the 'no' on it was clear on it. "And winter is coming." He turned and walked away.

Herian watched as Jon and Robb picked up the arrows, Jon looked up at his Lady and all Herian could see on her face was pure loathing. Jon quickly looked away and resumed his task.

'Ah.' Herian thought. 'He's a bastard,' she looked up at the Lady discreetly. 'What a stupid thing to get all up in arms for.'

* * *

Rodrik came out and collected them for the ride to the block. When they arrived at the blood stained piece of wood, Herian placed herself behind her Thane off to the right. Gave him plenty of room for that magnificent sword.

The deserter was walked up by two guards to stand before Ned. Herian could hear him muttering over and over. "Saw white walkers, White Walkers." And she could hear his heart, he wasn't lying. The elf pursed her lips, she hadn't brought up that she could serve as a lie detector yet. She could speak up, maybe spar the man his life, but she couldn't want to surprise Ned before his family and troops; and who would believe her? It was only really Ned and Jon, who knew what she was. Herian bit her lip and kept her trap shut.

"I know I broke my oath." The deserter said. Neds expression was passive and did not change. "I know I am a deserter, I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them." The deserters head shook slightly. "I saw what I saw, I saw White Walkers. People need to know, and get word to my family, tell them I am coward, tell them I'm sorry."

Ned looked away for a second then nodded at the guards, the deserter was forced to his knees. Theon offered Ned Ice, the massive blade came smoothly form its sheath. Ned turned it and planted the end in the ground and leaned slightly on it; both hands on the pommel, then said in his gravelly voice.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the first of his name. King of the Andals and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm. I Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Sentence you to die." He made a small step to the side and readied his strike and swung all in one smooth movement.

Herian couldn't help but marvel at the skill and strength that the action required with such a large sword.

Ned walked down to speak to Bran who had turned to his horse, Herian followed with ghost like silence.

Ned spoke softly to his son. "Do you understand why I did it?"

"Jon said he was a deserter." Bran said look briefly at his father then back to his horse.

"But do you understand why I had to kill him?" Ned asked.

"Our way is the old way." Bran worked on his horse reins after look up at his father again.

Ned nodded slightly and said grimly. "The man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword."

"Was it true that he saw the White Walkers." Bran asked turning fully to his father.

Herian but her lip again.

Ned sighed and said. "The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years."

"So he was lying." Bran said quietly.

"A mad man sees what he sees." Ned said and turned away as Bran turned from his father.

Shortly there after the party returned to Winterfell.

* * *

The next day was spent with Jon and his siblings for the most part, Ned did not need her talents and she had yet to find a good way to explain her talents to him. So when Ned excused himself from the walls of Winterfell to the nearby forest, Herian was quick to follow, with a little bit of magic to add to her stealth. Ned drew Ice and sat beneath a white tree with red petals, Herian took up a position of the opposite side, hidden from view. For many long minutes they sat unaware of the other, Herian relaxed to the sound of a sharpen stone and then a cloth over Ice.

When Lady Stark came into the glade, determined in her walk, Herian renewed her spells of concealment.

"All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here." Lady Stark said her voice clouded with grief.

Herian heard Ned look up from his blade to the Lady. "You have five Northern children, you're not an outsider." he said with a smile.

"I wonder if the Old Gods agree." The Lady's voice calmed.

"Its your Gods with all the rules." Ned said smiling and resuming cleaning his blade.

Ned looked up at his wife and the smile faded.

The Lady brought her hands up holding the scrap of parchment to her chest. "I am so sorry my love."

"Tell me." Neds voice lost some of its usual composer.

"There was a raven from Kings Landing," Cateyln paused. "Jon Aryyn is dead, a fever took him."

Neds' face fell and his gaze slowly fell to the pool at his feet.

"I know he was like a father to you," Lady Stark said.

"Your sister the boy?" Ned asked.

"They both have their health, Gods be good." She moved to sit on a stump beside Ned, and listened to the bird song for a minute. "The raven brought more news, the King rides for Winterfell. With the Queen and all the rest of them."

"If he is coming this far north." Ned spoke in his gravelly voice. "There is only one thing he is after."

"You can always say no Ned." Cat said almost desperately.

He looked away and she departed.

"Well, that sounded quite pleasant."

Underneath the sharp, green leaves, a voice called out, Ned did not lift his hand. Cloth in hand, the Stark continued to clean his impressive blade. Regardless of steel, in shape, age, or name, every blade needed to be maintained in some form.

Made for a grand way to clear one's mind too.

As he drew the cloth against one side of the weapon, Ned fought the urge to chuckle. "You know," he mused to no one in particular, "For most, I would be quite irritated to find someone spying on the private discussions of my family. Regardless of how grave they may be."

Just out of view of the Lord, a certain elf smiled to herself, "And, for that few some that are not 'most'?"

The Stark leaned back against the tall powerful trunk. In his lap, the man lowered the blade and did not hold back the amusement. Ned chuckled, and he was certain he wasn't the only one. "I would commend them," he noted, "For managing to keep themselves hidden for so long. Course, that would not save them if they bared a blade against my neck, which is for sure."

Herian smirked, "I believe claws would be more appropriate, in my case at the least."

"Indeed." Ned admitted, "Though if you don't mind, I'd much rather speak to someone face to face, instead of hidden in the shadows. Makes things a bit more, personal if I were to say."

A high laugh came as a response, "Very well."

Whilst he looked on, a familiar figure appeared from out of nowhere. No sounds, no creaks. Even the grass and dirt made not a sound to her arrival. In a way, Ned could have compared it to a ghost appearing out of the mist, as if leaping out of another world in general.

Of course, that felt a bit too real when it came to his new charge amongst House Stark.

Never the less, the Stark gazed at the woman wide eyes and a slight gape to his mouth. If Ice had not already been laid against his lap, the massive sword would have fallen to the ground in a clatter. All the while, the newest addition of House Stark stepped forward.

Her smirk more fitting of a fox than a wolf, Harian appeared out of the air itself and stepped out en-front of the massive man without a whisper of her arrival. Not even the grass reacted to her footsteps, a useful skill she had spent more moons and suns on then she cared to admit. In all the glory of her Daedric armour, she pulled her helm off for the man.

Still, the expression on her Thane's face made it all the more worth it.

"As you asked, I have appeared." she spoke with a slight bow, "Is there anything else, you require?"

The Stark raised his brow and shot the elf a look, "Well, to know how long you have been here would be nice. I was certain of our privacy for a time."

"One does not reveal her secrets so easily." Herian smirk, "But, I would describe it as, long enough."

Ned raised a brow, "Enough?"

"Long enough to hear of a poor sir's passing. I may not have known him, but I would like to give you my condolences. I am sure he was a proper man for you to had known him, my Thane."

Such words caused the Stark's head to fall. Ned glanced down at his sword and let out a sigh. Whilst he had been stern with his wife, it was still a blow to his heart. He had known the man, and his passing meant more than a simple political matter.

"Aye, he was," he sighed, "Jon was, had much to him. A strong man, a noble lord, quite the Hand to the King and, he meant much to me. To hear of his passing." Ned trailed off. A sadden gazed struck the Lord, "It hurts, more than any sword could have."

"Yes," the elf mused, "and to be poisoned. That is not how such a soul should pass on."

Suddenly, Ned's head snapped up so quickly that his neck might have snapped. His eyes bored into the elf's forehead like two sharp daggers. The leather covered gloves gripped Ice's hilt tightly. The mere groans the material made assured a clean decapitation with one shear swing of the man's arm.

Whilst Herian looked on, her Thane pushed himself off the ground and stared directly into her eyes. The stare he held was boiling, like searing iron, promising a horrid outcome if one were very poor with their choice of words.

One execution a day was enough, but an angered Stark would not object to another.

"What was that?" he asked, almost hissing, "What do you say?"

In front of the lone tree, the very air became under assault by a heavy pressure. Ned's glare pressed down upon everyone with a sharp press. Even the elf, whilst looking into the man's eyes could feel a shiver creep up her spine. It didn't help that he was over a foot taller then her, her hand twitched. It was almost like a knife of silver had been pressed against the bottom of her neck.

Resisting the urge to swallow her breath, Herian remained calm, "It's as I said. Whilst I'm sure an illness could have claimed the lord's life, it did not sound like the case to me." she explained, "The symptoms, the way it was described? If I were to guess, then poison might have been involved, my Thane. Fevers do not spare loved ones."

Ned narrowed his gaze. His gloves did not ease up on his blade.

"And you are sure of this?" he enquired.

At that, the elf shook her head, "Without examining the body in person, I can only speculate. Though with my experiences in such things, I know many kinds of poisons and what they may do. Some have caused blood to gush out of a man's eyes, to turn him crazed within an hour. Others have dropped men dead in the span of a few seconds, whilst some have blinded several for the rest of their lives."

Herian sighed, "But the illusion of illness, only to result in death within a day's time. Is much harder to pin down."

Meeting her Thane's gaze, the elf Lycan let out a sigh, "If you require more proof, then I could brew you some of these vile drinks to demonstrate what could result from drinking them. Would require a few weeds and flowers, but it's something I'm sure can be done rather simply."

"Especially the odourless type," she mused, "Easy to slip into a drink or soap. Though I would not recommend the later, to easy for another to use."

For several seconds, there was silence. The towering Stark remained still, hand remained clamped around his sword, yet his expression refused to even twitch.

The man said nothing, did nothing; he even struggled to breath. Outwardly the Lord looked stoic, solid; like the walls that made up his home, but inwardly? There was chaos, questions, concerns, doubts. There were so much that even the Stark himself was unsure where to start.

So after a moment, his grip loosened. "That," he sighed, "Will not be necessary."

Herian looked him up and down, then slowly reached out to drip her Thane's shoulder. "If you do go south, allow me to protect you. I have a few more things to tell you, but have not found a time to till now." she winced. "And a favour to ask of you."

Underneath the massive tree, Ned flinched the moment he felt the hand on his shoulder. He winced at the sensation, still unsure of many things. Far too many things. It was uncertainty, not a good thing to have in one of his position. Settling his nerves, the tall Stark glanced at the woman in front of him. She looked very concerned, and strangely, he could not find the heart to blame her for it. Ned frowned, "What, favour would that be?"

Herian released his shoulder when he flinched and bit her lip then said tightly. "Your son, Jon. I would like to offer him an apprenticeship, he has many of the qualities a Ranger like myself looks for in a potential student. I have not yet ask him if he is interested, I felt it would be best to ask you first. He holds this romanticized version of the Wall in his head, I've been there enough to know he would be miserable. Your son cares deeply for those around him, the Wall would freeze that part of him." The elf stepped away and sat on the ground by the pool; and gazed into it, a breeze tickled wove through them, her hair danced like leaping flames.

"You believe Jon will not be up to the task that the Wall may present to him?" Ned mused.

Whilst the elf gazed at the pool, the Stark walked up next to her and stood there, a mere foot beside her flowing locks. He spared a glance at the pool, and yet his attention came focused on the castle in the distance.

"I would like to say I know my son, just as I do any of my other seed." he sighed, "But, the Wall is as you say. It is harsh, and all might not be put for what it presents."

Images of a man came to Ned's mind. The deserter, the man who had abandoned his duty at the wall. The mad ramblings of a man who could not handle such a duty.

Ned glanced down at the woman at his side."Are you sure you can make certain that the Wall will not rob me of one of my own?"

"As my apprentice he would stay with me, I did not say he could not handle the Wall. I said it would not suit him. You do know you children better then I, but considering I am impossible to lie too. I like to think I can catch on quickly, I would teach him all that I know. Maybe someday if it can be done, take him to visit my homeland." Herian sighed and dug a hand into the ground. "And I smell magic beyond the wall, I have seen your Nights Watch. Forgive me my Thane but it is pitiful, if we go south and you permit me to apprentice Jon. At least when I am through with him," she trained off. "I know not how to phrase what I wish to say. But I worry for the coming Winter, and I worry that allowing Jon to go to the Wall will be his death."

"One should always worry, for Winter is coming." Ned noted.

To him and his kn, such a declaration was not simply a warning of the chilling weather. Ned might not have believed in the more supernatural stories regarding winter, but he knew of what it represented. Something was coming, and he wished to be prepared.

For anything.

A moment of silence passed, slowly and with a tense feeling in the air. Ned closed his eyes and let a long, drawn out sigh escape his throat. He believed in his kin, as did many others, but Jon, the boy was something more than Stark.

He sighed, "If you are so certain of it, then I will allow it, if Jon accepts the offer."

Herian bowed her head. "Thank you Thane. You will not regret this." She looked up at him. "My other question is what would you have me do when the King arrives?"  
With one matter done, Ned scratched his chin with thought.

"Hmm," he mused, "With the King's arrival, the matter of your presence is not something I would like questioned. These are grave times, and with Sir Jon's passing, we must be wise."

"So for the moment, I would like you to make yourself scarce. Do not vacant the area, if the King does not know you are there, then that is all that matters."

He spared Herian a glance, "Would that suit you?"

Herian nodded. "It would, but he will find out eventually. You are my Thane, it is my job to be your bodyguard. I have been lax in this duty because you have not needed it, but he will find out eventually. Would it not be best to ensure it is on our terms? I will wear my armour and mask, I can pass for human." she smirked. "Most of the time."

"Yes," Ned mused, "I am well aware. I am not asking you to keep yourself hidden away forever." he described, "I only seek to keep things straight for the moment, just to make sure current matters are completed smoothly."

With the King's arrival, Ned only wished for things to go as simply as they could. If Herian's race or status weren't a concern, then the King wouldn't prying into matters that weren't his concern. Then there was the possibility of a murder about? Chances weren't preferred.

"Alright." She rose up and smiled at him. "I will stay out of sight till you say otherwise." The elf shrugged. "Keep Jon company, his horse stance is still terrible." she stuck her tongue out momentarily.

Ned blinked, "I see." With a small sigh, the Stark sheathed his sword and shook his head. With all the matters going on, the man was having a hard time figuring out when to deal with things. Though the expression his elf 'friend' had on was almost making the man regret his decision already. Unfortunately, by the look in her eyes, that ship might have already sailed.

Herian studied him for a moment and sighed. "Sit a while longer my Thane, the stress is practically oozing off of you. If it eases your mind, come by the yard sometime. I'll be happy to give a demonstration. Your Lady can handle the Keep for a while longer and knows what to do to prepare for your King." She gestured to the log he had been sitting on. "You are good to no one distracted, and I know I confuse you. I will leave if it helps."

Ned frowned, though he entertained the concept, there was much he had to do. Preparations for the King's arrival; dealing with his forefather's demise, the matter of his son's newly settled upon apprenticeship. It was rather a lot to deal with at the moment, of course that just made the stress all the more heavy in some ways. After a moment, Ned glanced at the log with a frown, "No, leaving is not necessary. Its as you've said, I just have a lot on my mind as it were."

"Then sit, and I will keep you company." She glanced up at the Old Gods tree. "I like this place, it reminds me of home." The elf sat back on the ground, removed the weapons strapped to her back, flopped down into the moss and closed her eyes. "There is a peace in this grove that I can't put my finger on, magic in the air. However slight." Herian sighed heavily with a smile.

Amidst rubbing his forehead, Ned spared a glance at the elf. "You are quite adept at sensing that in which we cannot comprehend, aren't you?" he mused with a sigh. Made the Stark wonder how she would be like if taken up to the very peak of the wall. Ned himself had only seen such a peak, but even then he had felt something. A strange foreboding nature, a feeling he had felt at his core. The urge to run, to escape. To get as far away as physically possible, whatever he had felt, it was daunting, that was for certain. Made the man shiver to even consider it. Be that as it may, Ned glanced down at the log with an uncertain glance. He had not finished in cleaning his weapon, and sitting whilst sharpening Ice was better than standing, that was for sure.

Herian chuckled. "Oh you can comprehend it." she raised a hand and snapped her fingers. A small orange flame, sprung up between them. "You've just lost touch with it, I can feel it, though not very well. It is in all of your bloodline however small. Like an ember that needs fuel and a soft wind to raise to a blaze." she spread her fingers and made a stroking motion with them. The fire danced in slow circles around her hand. "Magic is a part of all of us, at home our souls absorb the power from Mundas, the outer realm and convert into magic that we all wield. The magic here is in the land and it has been sleeping for thousands of years, but now it stirs bit by bit. You will see more and more, till you are forced to believe. It has already started, that deserter from the wall was telling the truth, I listened to his heart. Sit my Thane, before you fall."

Falling, was quite an accurate description to what Ned felt at the moment. The explanation, like many of Herian's own, were detailed and yet confusing all at the same time. Yet, with the flaming flicking just a foot or two before him, the Stark could not find the words to rebut her statements and claims.

It was all there, staring him dead in the face. So, his response to such words and requests?

"Yes, Well."

He sat, after lightly manoeuvring his sword's sheath to the side, along with his attire, Ned sat down next to the young elf and took a deep breath. Anything that could be done to settle his nerves after such a show.

Talk of poison, appearing out of nowhere, and now the ability to spring fire out from thin air? At this rate, Ned was not sure if he would learn more about the world around him, or die first.

Though by the sound of his heart, the latter seemed far more likely.

The flame disappeared and Herian swiftly sat up, pulled off a gauntlet and very softly, touched Neds cheek, the touch lasted for only a second and a soft green wreath of energy surrounded him and sank into his body.

Slowly she laid back down and quietly said. "It is called Sanctuary."

"I-what?" Ned mumbled.

Such complicated wordplay was the best the Stark could come up with. With the increasingly present methods the elf could find ways to confuse to man, this most recent had nearly pushed his mind over the edge. Or least it would have if not for the soothing effects flowing through his body.

It felt like a rushing river, cool, calm, like a sea of warmth just washing away all the pressures that had been plaguing the man since the arrival of the news earlier that day.

Honestly, Ned felt bewildered and if not for the soothing effect of such a spell, he would have shoved Ice into the woman's face.

She was lucky there, that was for certain

"If it helps, sometimes warriors use to help calm and centre themselves before battle. You sounded like you needed it. I'm sorry to have distressed you so much." The elf kept her voice soothing and smooth.

"It is, alright." Ned sighed, "It wasn't you, mostly. There have just been a large sum of things bothering me as of late. With all that you've told me about the fate of my friend, your concern over Jon, and now this."

He chuckled, "I was just more unprepared, then I thought I would have been."

"Happens to the best of us Ned." Herian smiled and allowed herself to relax and dose off at the sound of him tending his blade.

 **Thank you for all the reviews, DarkDemon and I appreciate them. For returing readers I added a note at the end of the last chapter explaining why Herian calls Ned Thane, yes she is technically is his Housecaul, but I ask you to review the last note for clarification.**


	3. Chapter 3

King and Hand

When the royal procession came into Winterfell, the Starks stood in their best finery. All in a line, with the other members of their house behind them. An honour guard to the one side on horseback, foot shoulders and peasants on the other. The King entered the courtyard and all fell to one knee.

Herian watched from the roof of the stables behind the Starks, partly cloaked in a spell of chameleon, partly because she wished her Thane to know where she was. The smile she had gained when he spotted her perch made it worth it; and as long as she didn't move to much chances were low that anyone else would spot her.

Unfortunately she did not like this King almost instantly, he did not possess the baring of someone how took his throne seriously. The Queen, she was confident she would grow to loath. The Dark elf resisted the urge to wave her hand over her nose when she caught a whiff of the Queens children. A bunch of inbred bastards, "More lovely news for my Thane." she thought bitterly. For the last two weeks she had devoted her time to Jon, for she was going to ask him tonight while everyone was at the feast if he wanted to be her apprentice. The other effect of that was that she had been giving her Thane space and time to work through the information she had given him. Herian tapped her fingers against the stone and listened to the King and his Queen, make their introductions.

"Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects." The King said.

"We've been riding for a month my love, surely the dead can wait." The Queen said.

"Ned." The King said sharply, Ned bowed to the Queen and rushed off to guide his King.

'I'm glad he is not my King.' Thought Herian and silently jumped down from her perch to follow her Thane.

Through the halls and the courtyards of the colossal fortress, a silent, elf shaped silhouette silently followed both the Stark and the King. She remained but a few feet behind the pair. Pressed up against walls, hidden from the light of the sun. Herian followed without a sound, like a shadow, there and yet not, at the same time.

Soon enough, both parties and their silent pursuer entered into the Crypt. The colossal mausoleum of stone. It smelt of death, a familiar scent for the elf, she wrinkled her nose at the stench.

Upon entering the tomb, still hidden from her Thane and the King, Herian allowed her concealment magics to fade slightly more and moved through the shadows, staying just within ear shot.

"Tell me about Jon Arryn." Ned said.

"One minute he was fine," Robert signed. "And then. Burned right threw him whatever it was. I loved that man."

As the King spoke, the Stark spared the man a small glance. As he looked though, Eddard saw something. Just out of the corner of his eye, a shadow within the darkness of the Crypt. It was there, and yet not. A black shape, so familiar.

His gaze held, for just a moment, before he returned to the King.

"We both did." Ned said grimly.

"He never had to teach you much, but me. You remember me at sixteen?" Both men chuckled. "All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls. He showed me what was what."

"Aye." Ned said and looked over to his king.

"Don't look at me like that, it's not his fault I didn't listen."

Both men shared another chuckle, they stopped and turned to each other. Herian ducked into an alcove, and let Ned catch a corner of her grey cloak with his eye.

The King sighed. "I need you Ned, down at Kings Landing not up here where you are no damned use to anybody."

Herian watched as the joy fell from her Thane's face and fought the need to growl.

"Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King." Robert said solemnly.

Ned got down on a knee and said. "I am not worthy of the honour."

"I'm not trying to honour you, I'm trying to get you to run my Kingdom while I eat, drink and whore my way to an early grave." The last few words were said with mirth.

'Defiantly don't like that man.' Herian thought. 'What a selfish bastard.'

"Damn it, Ned stand up." The King slapped Ned on the shoulder, Ned stood. "You helped me win the Iron Throne now help me keep the damn thing. We were meant to rule together."

Herian watched the emotions fly over Neds features, he rarely was this open. Denial was the strong of them as he looked often at the ground and had his mouth open to speak but never said anything.

"If your sister had lived," the King resumed. "we be bound by blood. Well its not to late, I have a son, you have a daughter, we'll join our houses."

The King turned and walked back the way they had come past Ned who still hadn't said a word. Herian pressed herself into the shadows as the King past, by the Seventeen she wanted to do something but was at a loss at to what.

Ned turned and followed his King, Herian allowed him to see her and gave a nod of her head.

They moved through the crypts till the King stopped at Lynnas's grave and pulled a perfect feather from his pocket.

Herian hid in another alcove.

Robert placed the feather in the status outstretched hand, grief plainly written on his face.

"Did you have to bury her in a place like this? She should be on a hill somewhere, with the sun and the clouds above her." Robert said his voice thick.

"She was my sister," Ned said softly. "this is where she belongs."

"She belonged with me." Robert gently touched the statues cheek. "In my dreams I kill him every night."

"It's done your grace, the Targaryens are gone."

"Not all of them." The King growled out.

Ned had nothing to say to that.

Herian followed her Thane for the rest of the day, till he had to go into the Keep for the feast. From the shadows, a soft touch briefly passed over the man's arm, just briefly and yet just real enough for him to feel it. Ned turned where he stood and scanned all that was around him. There were people, the sound of the feast just a few rooms over.

But, other than that? There was nothing but a slight breeze through the castle halls.

Outside, a silent figure slipped across the courtyard and away from the loud party in the distance. She'd much rather be around things more, her type. So, it didn't take long to find the training yard. And Jon, beating up a grass dummy with very poor form.

If one to describe it, it was more like the boy was just flailing around a sword. Swinging back and forth as the blade struck the dummy from one side then the next. The shard of metal struck vital spots and non-vital ones, ones that could easily be taken advantage of in the hands of another fighter.

Upon striking the dummy upon the head with a downward swipe, Jon sighed.

 _'Well, at least this is easier than dealing with someone living.'_ He mused, _'Or worse-'_

"Beating up the dummy will get you nowhere Jon."

Like the sudden shattering of glass, Jon shot upward and turned on the spot. The boy's arms shot upward in a snap and gripped his weapon tightly. Startled, the youth turned on the spot and glanced around with a worried gaze. Yet what was in front of him?

It made Jon groan.

' _-her.'_

Herian stepped from the shadow and pulled her hood down, though her face was still hidden by the helm. She drew her thin Daedric scimitar and side stepped around till he had to turn to face her. "Come then, I have a pretty good idea why you are angry. Feel free to take it out on me and not the dummy."

 _'You make it sound as if either are preferable.'_ the boy mumbled.

Jon stepped any from the dummy and held his sword in the proper stance, she had beaten the crap out of him enough the last almost two months to know when she was being serous. For she had never drawn her own blade before. He swallowed thickly as he gazed at the harsh black mental. The length of the blade was thin and the edge sharp, it had a long red vein that glowed in the dark, the curve of the blade as very slight and only started about mid-way through it.

"Fight Jon, I did not draw it for you to stare." She crouched low and Jon saw the horse stance she had been drilling into him. It made her appear to coil like a snake getting ready to strike.

He sank into his stance and raised his blade up to the side of his head. The black haired boy had a feeling this was not going to be like their usual bots.

The dark elf lunged forward with a snarl, cleaving clearly for his side. Jon caught the black blade on his simple steel, the noise was horrible. The steel screamed as the black bit into it, Jon could see a large chip carved out of the blade. Unfortunately while he was looking that the blade, Herians' free hand shot out palm flat.

 _'Shit!'_

Before his mouth could even react to the yelp, the elf's hand slammed into the boy's chest with a crushing blow. It was as if a horse had kicked him across the chest, without a sliver of armor either.

Jon was sent flying away from her, sprawling several feet until his body slammed into the cold hard ground. He felt a rib crack, he lay dazed on the ground, didn't even attempt to get up.

Instead, he simply groaned, _'Why must everything hurt so?'_

Herian sheathed her blade, walked over to the boy, knelt and touched his chest with her finger tips. Blue sparks flew from her hand into his body and very suddenly his chest no longer hurt.

"Wha?" Jon sat up and touched his chest tentatively.

"Magic, I can transform into a werewolf it surely isn't that shocking." Herian said.

She did have a point their and being younger than his father his mind had a much easier time of wrapping around the concept.

Herian pulled Jon to his feet. "I have an offer for you."

"What?" Jon asked.

"Would you like to apprentice under me? I have already asked your father and he has agreed to it if you do." The elf said smoothly, another smirk much like a teasing fox.

Eyes wide, the boy blinked. Once, twice, and then a third time.

"Excuse me?"

Amused by the boy's bewildered expression, Herian crossed her arms and shot him another smirk, "Did your ears suffer quite the blow as well? Its as I said, I wish to take you as an apprentice, to learn quite more than you would against these dummies."

In the distance, the sound of wind blew through the training yard with a sharp hiss. It burned against Jon's ears, sharply reminding him that he was awake and not unconscious. When training with Herian, it was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

Either way, the boy could not believe his ears, "You, want me, to be your apprentice?" Truly, that sounded like something a dream would cook up, not reality.

"I did just ask did I not?" Herian let her small be heard. "As you may of guessed I have both a broad and very specific skill set. The organization I belong to is very picky when it comes to recruiting and you fit many of the qualifications. You would come with me wherever I go, while I will not be able to have you near at hand when I am acting as a bodyguard for your father. But when I don't have to worry about someone poisoning, stabbing him in the back and so on. I will be teaching you, you like the rest of your family has some magic, we will go to lengths to awaken it. You will learn how to spy, fight, alchemy and be versed with many a type of monsters. I am a Ranger, back home we are heros' for hire, we fix the little problems so the higher powers don't get burned out. Here, I have strived to fore-fill much the same role. As a Ranger you will help those in need, though it is generally for something like monster slaying, retrieval of items guarded by monsters, or curse breaking. So there is not need to fetch cats out of trees, there is the guard for that." she chuckled.

Jon had no words.

The young member of house Stark felt his jaw drop like a brick, like a large chunk of armour that had been loosened after a long battle. If it weren't for the muscle and flesh around his face, it would have been lying on the ground.

Course, that did not stop him from gaping like a newly caught fish.

Which only proved to make the look on Herian's face all the more smug, or amused. Jon couldn't tell. He had gotten awful used to the expression after all of their sparing matches, most of which ended with him on the ground.

Though, perhaps that could change if he became her apprentice? Maybe?

The whole magic thing was a bit hard to comprehend though, Jon half admitted that he was still feeling as if the blow to the head was the cause of that.

"Well," he gulped, "That all does sound rather temping."

"Though, do you really believe I would be truly capable of, all of that? Jon mused, still wheeling from it all, "It seems a bit far fetched to believe I could do some of the things you're implying."

"I do, not all Rangers are werewolves, most are quite normal. You are bright, you learn swiftly and you care, as I said we Rangers are very picky with our students." Herian smiled, "Though you will have to read a lot more then you are used too." She reached out and closed his jaw. "Someday if you really really want, you might even be able to convince me to share my lycanthropywith you. Then you might be able to beat me one day."

"S-share?" Jon stammered, "You mean others can become, like you?"

The young Stark remembered how she had described her kind as 'children' of something or other. Which naturally, would mean that there were others. More gigantic wolfen beasts that could tear a horse apart like it was nothing.

Jon shivered at the thought, especially at the idea of becoming something like that.

It was horrifying, and slightly temping at the same time-

"Wait," he muttered, "You believe that I'll only be able to defeat you if I become a being like yourself?"

Even for his common treatment by his family, his 'mother' especially, Jon could say that was rather rude, least in his opinion. Though giving his track record against her, it wasn't too hard to believe-

"Wait, do not answer that." he grumbled, "I've been dealt too many wounds already. Whats left of my pride cannot take another crack to its hide."

"You humans confound me." She sat beside the boy and pulled off her helm. "There is no shame in losing, no shame in being a product of love. My Empire had to once put one such as yourself on the throne because all others of his blood had been murdered. No one was stupid enough to think any less of him because of who his mother was or was not. I say that it would take becoming one of my kind or something along those lines to beat me, because I am not human. I am strong and faster then any human could ever be. But believe me when I say, I have had my ass handed to me every more often then I hand you yours. No you do not have to become as I am, you can stay as you are forever. And I would not turn you now anyway, yes it would be good for your training. But magic, what I am, it is all too knew to you. Plus I don't think your father would forgive me. There are Rangers that are wizards, sorceresses, werewolves and vampires, we even have a few that have chosen to become witchers. But there are lots that are just like you. They trained long and hard, but they did not look to Daedra, magic, or mutation to give them at edge in battle. And they do just as well as the rest of us." She sighed. "What makes a Ranger a Ranger, is their willingness to help others, to slay the goblins terrorizing a farm stead. To dive into that cave to find a long lost wedding ring. More often then not, rewards will be merger, coin, food and item. But frankly, its the doing of the action that is the reward, my homeland is full of ills great and small that threaten the people." she laughed. "I knew this one Ranger that had to find a way to get ride of the Staff of the Everscamp." The red head glanced over at the boy and coughed. "A story for another time." After a thought. "And kid I'm twelve years your elder, it would hurt my pride to loss to you."

For the last minute or two, Jon had said nothing. Not a word. Instead, all that time remained focused on listening, to every word and comment the Elf had said.

So many unfamiliar words, description, names. There was so much that it almost reminded Jon of the stories he had been told back when he was younger. Grand tales of far off places, with creatures, monsters, legends that went far and wide.

He knew now that most were but stories, but listening to Herian made the all feel just a bit more real, possible if it were. Like the monsters that madman had claimed were beyond the wall, and even more creatures than that. As he noticed her glance, the young boy let out a small huff and sighed, "Alright, you do have a point there."

If he were in her boots, then he couldn't complain. Still, getting his rear end kicked so often didn't help with the matter, especially when it seemed so easy for her.

Herian watched him. "Pride is a fickle thing, I've learned to pay it no heed long ago. I've been a Ranger for three provinces, each treated me different then the last. I was in the Summerset Ilse when I found myself here, I still wonder if it was some joke by Altmeri wizards to send me here. Or if my Grandmother decided it was time for me to leave my homeland. I can't promise that there will be songs sung about you, or that you will win every fight. But it is a good life." She snapped her fingers and created a small candle flame. "Nor can I promise that you will be good with magic, I can hide myself pretty well, heal myself and others to a limited degree. Beyond that I stink, for magic even like this." She made the flame slightly bigger. "I cheat and use Witcher signs, they are so much easier then my homelands magic." she laughed. "As Rangers go, I'm the blunt instrument, it ain't pretty but I get the job done." The elf paused. "Though that could be because I picked up my homelands magic pretty late, I was first trained as a Witcher. My aunt Ghani came by when I was four with my cousin Irlan, we had such fun together that I chose to study to be a Witcher. When I turned eighteen I returned to my homeland to follow my Path there. It lead me to becoming a Ranger, as much as I love getting payed for my work. Killing Drowers does get old very fast." she shrugged, "I never underwent Witcher mutations because I already had shown signs of lycanthropy, and none wanted to see what would happen if you mixed lycan blood and witcher mutations. That is assuming I lived at all."

Jon blinked, "That seems, like quite the trial." Oddly, whilst hearing her story, the young Stark couldn't help but compare the elf's situation to the men who chose to abandon their lives and joined the Watch. The men who guarded the Wall of the North, and men who lived for the Watch and died for it.

Of course, Jon knew not of what the Watch really was. All he had to go on was the stories, told to him whilst at Winterfell. The tales were wide and varied, confusing and inspiring all at the same time.

The creatures, the people beyond the walls. The tales of such creatures almost sounded as if they could exist in a similar manner as the creatures Herian spoke of. Of course, beyond the wall was only stories.

While Herian's tales sounded far too true, to not be true. Never the less, Jon kept his gob quiet and listened as Herian continued her tale.

The dark elf shrugged. "I guess I'm just trying to say that you don't need to change who are what you are to be a Ranger." the red head chuckled. "I'd be cross if you changed who you are." she stood up and offered him her hand. "Think it over, I will probably be heading south soon so you don't have unlimited time. I'm going hunting tomorrow, and I could use a hand if you're interested."

Jon blinked, "Sure."  
Extending his own hand, Jon took the elf's gesture. With a yank, Herian pulled the young lad back onto his feet, boots planted on the ground once more.

"Then I look forward to tomorrow then," she smiled, "Perhaps we'll be able to catch something that would make all in this castle red with envy. Just imagine the sight."

Whilst Jon dusted the dirt off himself, he paused and mused over the sight.

The two of them returning after a successful hunt, their prey draped over their backs. The guards looking on with envy, his father smiling proudly at the sight, and even Lady Stark being unable to deny the success of their venture.

As brief as it was, Jon couldn't keep the smile from his face, "That sounds great!"

Herian glanced at the lad's face and gave her own smile. It was nice to see the young boy actually happy for once. He was always so strict in the castle, whether it was around his family or by himself. Almost made her think that frown was plastered to his face or something.

"Wonderful, then it is a date then." she noted, "But that said, I believe that it is time for me to make myself scarce. Might as well check on that feast; make sure no one makes a grand fool of themselves."

Jon snorted, still in high spirits, "Far too late for that."

With the Lannisters around, fools were aplenty, even Jon knew that. In fact, if the elf wished to keep someone from making an ass out of themselves, keeping the booze out of the hands of his family would be her best bet. Though, this was a feast.

There would be no shortage of that to be certain.

The ranger shrugged, "Perhaps, but it does not hurt to try."

Her intention made, Jon realized there would be no convincing the Ranger. Accepting that, the young boy bid the elf goodbye and turned his gaze back to the dummy he had been failing at previously. Herian departed and disappeared back into the shadows, a small silhouette slithering back toward the castle in silence.

The light of the moon shined down on the boy as he stood out in the cold, wispy wind of the night. A breeze echoed through the courtyard as it brushed against his face. Jon glanced up at the sky and let out a sigh, the moon was full and bright as it shined down upon Winterfell.

'At least, I know you won't be going anywhere.' he mused.

Along with the wind, an echo of silence poured into the massive courtyard. Guards patrolled the walls of Winterfell with touches burning against the moonlight. Two guards stood at the gate of the massive castle, standing watch whilst the castle's occupants partied inside.

Inside the cold, stone walls of Winterfell, shouts and cheers echoed through the thick walls, as if they were mere parchment. Yet as the cheers of the feast drifted into the distance, another sound met it. Along a stone pathway toward the gate of the complex, an echoing sound drew closer. Many of the guards turned their heads to the noise, weapons at the ready. A galloping noise drew closer and closer with every second, with metal horse shoes roaming over the stones as the guards looked on.

Several black figures road through the massive gates of Winterfell, with Jon oblivious to each. The young lad continued to stare up at the sky, his mind enraptured with thoughts of Herian and what she had spoken of. The sword in his hand grew loose, almost slipping out of his grip as his mind wondered on.

The dummy in front of the lad was but a forgotten memory. The lump of carved wood had lost its sentience after its creature had departed. All that was left was the training stump that it was, still covered in nicks and dents from Jon's aggravated assault.

Still, as occupied as the boy was, he failed to notice a larger figure as it walked up behind him.

"My, you gave that thing quite the bludgeoning," a voice mused, "I guess a swift death was too much to ask for then, my boy?"

The voice snapped Jon out of his mental ramblings and turned around. His eyes wide, the young boy almost mistook what he saw as another fit of Herian's magic. After what he had seen that night, it was hard to imagine she wasn't capable of such things.

Yet as he looked upon the smiling face, Jon's somber face broke out into a large grin.

"Uncle Benjen!"

Standing just behind the young lad was a taller, much older gentlemen. He stood in Stark attire, a cloak with a fur collar around his shoulders and a leather blackened vest around his chest. The man's face was covered in a large, thick beard, as if he had been out in the North much longer than necessary.

Yet despite his rough appearance, Benjen Stark grinned at the boy in front of him all the same.

"Jon," Hen smiled and wrapped the boy up in a large, warm hug, "You got bigger. I rode all day. Didn't want to leave you alone with the Lannisters."

His arms tied around his uncle's shoulders, Jon let out a light chuckle. That was a one of the worst fates anyone could imagine for a Stark. The Lannisters were a vile bunch, even if one of them was the king's wife.

For a moment or two, the two men hugged. It had been ages since the two had last seen each other. Just seeing his uncle made Jon almost giddy with glee, even if he didn't show it.

As the hug finally ended, Benjen patted the boy on the shoulder and shot him a grin, "Its good to see ya lad. Though, why are you out here in the cold? Why not at the feast?"

Happy as he was, the mention of the goings on inside made Jon's grin shrink, if just a bit.

"Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst." He sighed, regrettable. The conversation with Herian had helped Jon forget about that matter, if just a bit.

Too bad his uncle hadn't been aware of this.

"Well, you're always welcome on the wall." Benjen swiftly reassured the lad, "No bastard was ever refused a seat there."

Just like that, Jon's thoughts swiftly returned to the wall. The colossal icy wall that stood to the North, a place for a new start, another life where his name and family would not matter. He remembered much talk of the place, and he recalled Herian's words on it. Talk of being her apprentice.

"Perhaps," Jon muttered, "I would appreciate that."

"But, what of you uncle? How goes it? We have not heard of you in quite some time. Indeed, I bet my father will be surprised to hear that you rode all the way here just for a feast."

Benjen laughed, "Oh, I'm sure! I have words for your father, but I also sought to rescue him from the guests inside. If I wait too long, I'd imagine Ice would get some workout this night."

"That would be grave, there is already enough red in there with the wine as it is."

A laugh echoed into the night, shared by the two men. Neither even held the thought of such a man drawing his sword that night, regardless of company. Then again, there were the Lannisters, and quite a large sum of liquor inside the walls of Winterfall. Combine those of the North and enough booze, and things could end rather red regardless.

"Ah, fair enough." Benjen noted, "Then come, let us go inside, save your father from his guests, and actually have ourselves a time. Lord knows how long we'll be able to keep to it."

Seeing his uncle's point, Jon relented and sheathed his sword. Despite his grievances, the two men of the House made their way inside, leaving the cold wind blowing outside.

Inside the colossal structure, the banquet raged on as one would imagine on the outside. Many people, swarms of nobles, men and women were about. Talking and laughing with each other, having the time of their lives. Both Benjen and Jon saw many familiar faces, of Stark and Lannister. There was food and drink all about, as were a merriment that made Jon frowned.

Near the corner of the room, the young lad spotted Lady Stark, talking amongst others he did not recognize. Her words, the cold tone she had spoken with ringed in the lad's ears, almost to the point where it felt like a blade being driven between his eyes.

As best he could, Jon shook off the feelings and turned to his uncle. Whilst he couldn't find his brother as quickly as he had hoped, the man of the wall spent his time with his nephew. They drank and traded stories on both ends. The youth spoke of the Direwolves his family had recently taken into their home and a new arrival in house Stark. He spoke not of the fantastic, mythical powers she processed but of the skill she had with a sword and dagger.

Benjen was impressed. Perhaps later if given the chance, the Stark would seek out this new arrival that his brother had found in the wilds. Would be interesting either way.

Whilst the party raged on, the two Starks eventually moved on from the loud noises and took to one of the towers. They held drinks in their hands and gazed up at the stars outside. The vast sky looked like a blackened sheet with small specks of light shining through the cracks.

Both men sighed at the sight, it was so peaceful. Quite the contrast to the echoing, raging party that was going on down below. The sounds of the feast could be heard even then, through the stone that made up the walls, floor, and ceiling above their head.

"Somehow, I am already missing the cold peace of the Wall." Benjen noted with a chuckle, "The wind is much less noisy then the drunken screeching down below."

Jon chuckled, "I can imagine."

Raising his glass, Benjen gazed out the tower peak and looked up at the stars above, "Though, the sky is much more beautiful here, I'll admit. No clouds constantly getting in the way. Rather, quaint actually."

"The Wall is but a fortress, a standing brace against all that is beyond it. There is little room for comfort, or family there." He mused, "I suppose some prefer it due to that, but having witnessed this?"

He chuckled, "It's going to be hard to go back."

"You'll find a way," Jon told him, "You wouldn't be wearing that if you hadn't the guts. Hell, I may be joining you one day, if my nerves permit me."

Taking a drink, Benjen spared a small glance at the boy beside him, "You sure about that lad?"

"You do not know what you'll be giving up. As I said, there are no families at the Wall, we cannot have children, there is but two things there. The Watch and the Wall."

"Do you think you are prepared for that?"

In the silence that was the old tower, Jon lowered his glass and thought to himself. He had asked that question himself before, with an elf standing before him. Back then he was unsure, and now? He was still unsure. Everything about the wall brought a sense of uncertainty.

Oddly, it wasn't as bone chilling as it once been.

As he though, Jon felt his uncle pat him on the shoulder with a large, thick glove, "Ah, don't worry about it lad. There is still time, and as I said, you are always welcome. The Wall does not turn away someone, especially if they have the nerve to approach it in the first place."

"But," he told the lad, "Just, don't rush, you hear? The wall hasn't gone anywhere in the last hundred years, and won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

Jon nodded.

If his uncle had brought such an offer to him just a day or so ago, he might have accepted it without a second though. The lad would have thrown everything to the wayside, just for a spot on the wall, damned the consequences.

Still, that was a day ago.

His thoughts shifting to an earlier conversation, Jon bit back a chuckle and swallowed a bit of brew, "You make it sound so tempting uncle, as if a piece of meat dangling in front of my face."

"Still, soon perhaps, soon."

"That's all I ask," Benjen chuckled, giving the boy a pat across the back, "That, and a bit of hunting before I take my leave. I do miss the green trees and hills out here, far less snow than there is at Castle Black."

Jon smirked, "I would like that too uncle. Though I warn you, there might be more creatures in those words than you might remember, that's for sure."

The wolves, deer, and elks were one thing, but when there was some sort of monstrous deer abomination lurking around, one with enough strength to kill a Direwolf mother and a wolfen Ranger? That could be something even the Night's Watch may need to watch out for.

Jon chuckled. That was a horrible joke.

Unbeknownst to the boy's poke at his profession, Benjen took a deep drink from from his cup and pushed himself away from the wall, "Fair enough. Hell, maybe you'll be the one to teach me something new."

"Oh, you put far too much faith in me uncle."

The Stark shrugged, "Say what you will. Me though? I think I shall call it a night."

"Oh, must you?" Jon asked, "But the night is still young?"

Noting the boy's frown, Benjen let out a small shrug and rolled his shoulders, "Sorry lad, but this may be the first time in a long while I may be able to get some rest on my terms. That and I still gotta find ya old man. He has to be around here somewhere."

Jon rolled his eyes, "True, and we haven't heard any screaming, so he hasn't snapped yet."

"Ah, true enough." Ben nodded, "Still, I think I'll be off to the night lad."

Taking a step back from the window, both men of House Stark turned to each other. With strong arms, the two embraced each other once again. Jon wrapped his arms around his uncle, and Ben did the same.

"Just don't be a stranger Uncle, and don't let me catch you sneaking off without a goodbye."

The man of the Watch let out a laugh, "Ha! As if I can be that sneaky."

After a minute or two of their hug, the two separated once more. Ben held his brother's son and shoulders length and offered him a stern, yet comforting smile, "I won't be going anywhere laddy. Least not without word."

"That's all I ask."

Under the light of the moon, Ben offered his young relative a warm goodbye and took his leave. Down the stairs back into the major halls of Winterfell, with a slight stumble in his step. Jon watched as his uncle departed a small smile on his face.

The black coated figure soon vanished back into the cold, stony walls of the massive fortress, gone back into the loud noises that echoed below. Whilst he did, Jon shook his head and turned his gaze back out the window. He turned his eyes upward and stared into the night's sky.

"So that is your Uncle? Can't say I expected that from the Night's Watch.

Jon lowered his head.

Off to the side of the hall he stood in, a new figure stepped forward. A drink in his hand, a short man, disproportionally so, stepped out from the shadows and walked up to the young man. Clothed in a vest, regal pants, and a rather self-respectful nature about him, the short individual took a few steps forward and had a long sip of his mug.

The young Stark took a step back, surprised by the sudden arrival.

"What're you doing back there?"

Now standing across from the lad, the shorter of the two men waved his drink back and forth, "Preparing for a night with your family. I've always wanted to see the Wall."

Despite his appearance, the strange man spoke with a certain tone in his voice. Almost despite his outward appearance, he held a sort of self-respect toward himself. Every word that left his mouth was drenched in a certain tone, one Jon swiftly recognized.

"You're Tyrion Lannister. The queen's brother?" he asked, slightly hesitant.

Tyrion smirked and raised his mug, "My greatest accomplishment."

After a long, deep swig of the drink, the Lannister let loose a long, satisfied sigh. Jon could imagine that it was one hell of a drink, from that reaction at least.

Once his sigh had finished, Tyrion sent the youth a curious look, "You-you're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?"

A simple question, yet Jon flinched at it all the same. He took a step back and looked away. His eyes glanced at the closest bit of stone he could, gaze filled with shame and a touch of resentment.

Something that did not go unnoticed.

Tyrion frowned, "Did I offend you? Sorry. You are the bastard, though."

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father." Jon sharply replied.

"And Lady Stark is not your mother." the dwarf countered, "Making you the bastard. Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour. Then it can never be used to hurt you."

Amidst the halls of Winterfell, Jon gritted his teeth tighter and tighter. Regardless of Tryion knowing or not, each word the Lannister spoke sent a jolt of anger through the young Stark. Whatever relief the party had given the boy soon melted away, leaving a hot boiling pot of anger for him to simmer on. It continued to build and build until Jon could not take it anymore.

"What the hell do you know about being a bastard?" he snapped, roaring with teeth bared.

The young lad's voice echoed through the hall, a shout of defiance, of anger, of shame at what he was. He unleashed all he had in one, single burning moment, directed at the shorter man that shared the air with him.

Yet after the boy's enraged shout, Tyrion did not snap back or look angry at the boy's words.

He simply stared and with one shrug of his shoulders, raised his drink back to his lips.

"All dwarves are bastards in their fathers' eyes."

* * *

Lady and Lord Stark lay awake in their bed, Cat was cuddled up to her husband as they talked of the day.

"I'm a northman." Ned said solemnly, as he stroked Cats arm, her head on his chest. "I belong here with you not down south in that rats nest they call a capital."

"I won't let him take you." Cat said.

Ned scoffed. "The King takes what he wants. That is why he is King."

Cat sat up and turned to him. "I'll say, listen here fat man, you are not taking my husband anywhere" She pointed at him to emphasis her words and Ned chuckled. "He belongs to me own."

Ned smiled at his wife and she snuggled back down. "How did he get so fat?"

"He only stops eating when it's time for a drink." They both chuckled.

A soft knock filled the room and a voice said. "It's Maester Luwin, my lord."  
"Send him in." The Lord spoke neutrally.

The bald Maester Luwin came in wearing his grey robs. "Pardon, my lord, my lady. A rider in the night from your sister."

Cat swiftly felt the bed and took the note from Luwin then moved to a candle to read it.  
The Maester moved to leave.  
"Stay." Ned said the Luwin.  
"This was sent from the Eyrie. What's she doing at the Eyrie? She hasn't been back there since her wedding." Catelyn read the note swiftly, with a look of growing distress she strode over to the fireplace and threw the letter in.  
"What news?" Ned asked as he walked over to his wife.  
"She's fled the capital. She says Jon Arryn was murdered. By the Lannisters. She says the king is in danger."

Ned frowned, Herian had already told him this though with her it was just a guess, she admitted to that readily. Now the same news again, but from a source that was not a guess. The recalled the elfs words. "Fevers do not spare loved ones." he thought, then looked at his wife.

"What is it Ned? Do you know something?"Cat asked watching her husbands face.

"Herian mentioned to me that Jon Arryns' death didn't sound natural. Apparently she is knowledgeable with such things, she could offer no proof but was concerned. Now this comes," he gestured to the fire place. "Do you think she is sure?"  
"Lysa's head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people had found that letter. Do you think she would risk her life, her son's life, if she wasn't certain her husband was murdered?" Catelyn said firmly.

Luwin entered the conversation. "If this news is true, and the Lannisters conspire against the throne, who but you can protect the king?"  
"They murdered the last Hand. Now you want Ned to take the job." Cat said in the same desperate town.  
"The king rode for a month to ask Lord Stark's help. He's the only one he trusts. You swore the king an oath, my lord." Luwin said solely.  
Cat argued back. "He spent half his life fighting Robert's wars. He owes him nothing." To Ned she said. "Your father and brother rode south once on a king's demand."  
The Maester said softly. "A different time. Different king."


	4. Chapter 4

Hunting Party

Herian poked Jon on the shoulder. "Wake up." she hissed.

Jon turned over and jumped upright. "Wa?" he asked sleep muddling his thoughts.

"Get dressed and get ready, I want to be out before dawn. I have no idea how long we are going to have to look or wait. I'll wait for you in the stables." The dark elf whispered and then departed with hast."

By the time Jon was dressed and ready the sun was just starting to peak over the horizon, Herian was waiting for him with a horse.

"Wasn't kidding, was she?" he mused.

The youth resisted the urge to yawn and rubbed his face. With the warmth of his gloves caressing his face, the young Stark shook the sleep from his eyes and dragged himself out of the castle and made for the stables.

"You know, if being your apprentice will require me to wake up this early so often," he called out to the elf, "I may reconsider your offer."

Near the entrance of the stables, Herian rolled her eyes at the young Stark.

"Oh, suck it up." she jabbed, "This is actually later than I originally planned, but I figured I'd let you sleep in a bit after the previous night. I don't need a hunting partner with a hangover."

"Too late." Jon grumbled.

Herian smiled at him, oddly she didn't wear her helm this morning. "It won't usually. But I want to be out there before the King, I heard rumblings of him wanting to go hunting today. Given what we are hunting the fewer people in the forest the better." She tossed the reins over the horses neck. "So you've made up your mind on my offer?"

Jon shook his head, "Not exactly, but I have been considering. Why? Do you need your answer now?"

Again, Herian smiled at the young Stark. As he approached her, the elf patted the lad on the shoulder and shook her head, "No, not yet. I was just curious."

"But, enough of that. We have some hunting to do, correct?"

Jon rolled his neck and gave her a nod, "Yes yes. Let us get going. Just let me go get myself a horse of my own, alright?"

Pushing past the Ranger, Jon made his way into the stable. Given the massive size of Winterfellt, there were quite a number of steads to pick from. It would be easy to select one out of the horde of horses for him to use.

As he entered the grassy stable though, Herian grabbed him by the shoulder and held Jon back.

Jon blinked, "Um...okay. Then, just go get yours and then we can get on our way, yes?"

Inwardly, Jon was a bit surprised. He was thankful that she had already gotten a horse out for him, but why hadn't she gotten one for herself? Surely she would have had enough time.

Blush crept into the elfs' cheeks and she shuffled on the spot. "I kinda put on a brave face when we went riding the last few times. So I had hoped that you would let me ride behind you today."

For a matter of seconds, Jon stared widely at the elf. The two stood next to the single mount, varied expressions upon their faces.

Whilst Herian looked away, hiding her face from the young boy, John stared with big, wide yes. His mouth hung open like a fish, words lost for a few brief seconds.

Honestly, he had not the slightest idea of what to say. "A, brave face?" he muttered, "You don't like to ride then?"

Now the blush was evident to Jon. "I don't like to ride anything with more then two legs. And its not that I don't like to ride, its that I don't like to ride horses." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and decided the ground was fascinating.

Jon was stunned. "Horses." he asked, just to be sure, "You don't like horses?"

Her, the Ranger. A person who could change into a gigantic wolf-like creature that could make even the most feared killers seem like kittens.

She, didn't like horses?

Honestly, Jon didn't know if he should laugh, look away, or just stare blankly at the woman in front of him. Heck, the horse likely had a better idea of how to react.

Herian said nothing for a moment. Instead, she sent him a glare instead.

Jon winced, "Ah, sorry. I didn't mean. Just, horses? Really?"

Herian nodded. "Aye, I didn't grow up with them really and I have a few to many bad experience with things with many legs and bigger then me." The elf was just shy of five and a half feet, so many things were bigger then her, even Jon. "We have spiders at home that are," she trailed off and shuddered violently. She looked up the horse. "I just don't like then, I don't like things moving between my legs with minds of their own." The elf hugged herself and uttered looking at the ground again. "I don't like them."

Caught off guard by the rather sharp turn in the Elf's personality, Jon raised his hands. "Oh, alright then. Sorry. I wasn't aware that you had such a bad experience with such creatures." he apologized, more confused than really sorry. Yet, how else should he have acted?

Still, Jon glanced back at the horse and had a thought.

"But, if you won't be riding, then how will you catch up with me if I am?"

"What, will you walk or something of the like?"

Given all her impressive abilities, Jon would not be surprised if Herian had something that could get her to the hunting grounds without a horse. Though those aside.

Walking, really?

"May I ride behind you? Normally I would just shift into my other shape. But that is not productive with that I want to do today." She pulled her bag off her shoulder and pulled out an amulet. In the centre was a small stylistic metal wolf head, beside it to the fight was a claw and fang of an unknown creature, finally to the right. A thin silver crescent moon, with a gold fine five pointed star held in the moons centre. The dark elf put the amulet on, it shrank to sit just about her collar bone, then she pulled her hold up. A hand fell to the amulet, a finger stroked a wolfs cheek and she sighed, calmed slightly. "I would rather not make this anymore awkward than it may already be."

In front of the stable, Jon raised his hands and shook his head.

"Of course. All you had to do was ask," he replied, "It's no trouble at all."

Raising her gaze up from her amulet, Herian spared the young lad a small smile. A small bit of gratitude was shared with the Stark. This was not something she shared with anyone. It would be hard to get work if your clients knew you were rather bias against horses of all things.

Inwardly though, Jon bit back a nervous chuckle. 'Much better that then the alternative.' He mused.

Would have been a rather difficult subject to explain to the guards upon the walls if they saw a giant wolf creature follow him into the forest. Hell, how would they be so sure that the horse wouldn't high tail it the moment it saw her?

No matter worrying about getting to the forest. Herian would be picking arrows out of her back before they even reached the tree line, and that wouldn't do.

Turing to the massive stead, Jon walked up to the creature and grabbed onto its saddle. With a strong pull, the boy lifted one leg over the beast's back and placed himself upon the horse. Under his wait, the horse shifted back and forth before settling itself. The horses weren't unfamiliar to the Stark family, and they were well trained.

Whilst making himself comfortable, Jon grabbed the reigns of his mount and glanced down at his companion. Still at his side, Herian inched backwards away from the animal, all while giving it an unsightly look.

Jon couldn't help it. Reigns in hand, he cracked a small smile. He did not voice it, but from atop the horse it was hard not to notice how small the elf looked from up above. Course, that wouldn't stop her from placing a blade in his neck. That is for certain.

Shifting priorities, the young Stark turned his gaze back towards the horse and gave it a good look over. It was young but strong, easily able to make the trek to wherever Herian would be leading them.

"Well, this seems in order." he mused and glance at his companion.

The Stark offered the elf a small smile and extended his hand, "Now, shall we be off?"

On the ground, Herian crossed her arms and looked up at her Thane's son. She bit her lip at the creature he rode but took notice of the welcoming gesture he made. After a moment or two of silence, the elf bit back a sigh and with great reluctance, took the boy's hand with her own.

"Yes," she muttered, "And be quick about it we should. The longer the sun is in the sky, the more difficult our hunt will be."

Jon rolled his eyes, "You say that as if it would be easy."

"No, but a Ranger would not make a hunt harder on themselves than it already would be."

His hand grasping hers, Jon reached down and swiftly pulled Herian onto the horse with a strong dug. The elf swung her leg over the creature's back, right behind Jon. She uncomfortably settled atop the four legged animal, a frown already formed across her face. It had been less than a few seconds and already she wanted off.

Jon resisted the urge to smile at the elf's expression and turned his gaze to the road ahead. He grabbed the horse's reigns and gave them a quick snap.

The horse began to march forward at a steady pace, one hoof after another as it emerged from the stables and walked into the courtyard ahead. Herian gave a little yelp and wrapped an arm around Jon's waist.

Everything now set; Jon snapped the reigns once more and shook the mount into gear. With a sudden gallop, the horse and its riders, willing and not, lurched forward into a brisk pace. It flew across the courtyard, horse shoes clattering against the stone covered path below it and raced toward the complex's gate.

Whilst the guards looked on, the pair left Winterfell. Beyond the massive walls of the Stark fortress, the duo rode onward into whatever was ahead. Dirt paths, grassy fields, and a large forest that hovered on into the horizon.

Jon couldn't help but grin how every dump caused Herians arm to tighten around his waist. Plus the little sound she made when they moved into a gallop was something he'd always remember when he needed to laugh.

The sun had just crept over the horizon when they arrived at the forest.

"Should we send the horse back?" Herian asked as they entered the forest.

"Yeah." Jon said and stopped the horse.

Herian all but leaped from its back. "Then send it, it will only be a liability."

Jon dismounted and tried the reins loosely to the saddle horn and pulled out a bit of white cloth and tired it to the horn, then patted the horse's rear.

"So where are we going?"

As he spoke, the young stead turned in place and made its way back from wince it came. There would be no need for such a creature any longer. Whatever the pair caught on their hunt would be dragged back by hand, whether they liked it or not.

Though for how long they walked, Jon was certain he would not regardless.

"Don't know, we'll know when we find it." Herian set off into the forest, the morning chores just starting.

Jon pursed his lips and followed, he had a feel another lesson was inbound.

The Dark elf lead the way to the same bit of bridge that they had found the deer at, then she stopped and pressed a finger to the wolf medallion at her throat.

"Something wrong?" Jon asked, frost nipping at his nose.

"No," she turned and showed him the medallion. "this senses magic. Both a Leshen and a Direwolf ended up in this spot at roughly the same time." she paused. "I think there is a Place of Power nearby, they are places were magic gathers. I think magic in this land dwindles in the summers and gathers in the winters. But in places like a place of power, the magic would be steady on some level. Hence the Direwolf and Leshen, we are going to find the place of power and see whats around it. After then we are going to look for the Leshens totem, it will probably be nearby." She pulled her bow and quiver off her back and offered then to Jon. The boy tried the quiver to his waist then the elf held the bow out and touched just about the grip.

Daedric runes appeared and glowed orange along the length of the black bow. "This is enchanted with fire, any arrow that you let fly from this bow will set the target on fire."

Jon hesitantly took the bow.

"Do not miss, see if you can draw it." Herian stepped to the side.

Jon drew the bow slowly, arms straining it was the hardest bow to draw he had every held, but he pulled it off.

Herian smiled. "Well done, think you can manage that?"

"Yeah." Jon said with a small smile, the bow was warm in his hands.

"Come on then." She set of the road to the left with a determined yet silent stride.

Jon followed and tried to mimic her stride.

"On your toes, then follow with your heel." Herian offered the critique without turning.

Jon did as instructed and they continued for almost two hours, the strain from the new time of walking, the cold and the nearly morning were catching up with Jon. Finally Herian came to a stop and gestured for Jon to stand beside her, Jon heard a quiet jiggle and looked over to the elf.

Her wolf medallion was twitching all on its own, Herian smiled and stretched out a hand.

There was a crack and a resonating boom, before the two of them about two meters away an orb of blue light shined brightly before them.

The elf gestured to it. "After you, just touch it."

Jon swallowed thickly and did as he was told, his fingers just brushed the orb then his world spun and darkness closed around him.

* * *

"Wake up Jon we don't have all day." A finger prodded his chest.

"Ow." Jon said sitting up, and pressed a hand to his head. He felt tingly almost drunk but not inhibited. It felt good, strange but good like something had opened up inside of him.

Herian laughed a high musical sound. "Welcome to magic kiddo. The feeling will pass that was one of the nicest introductions that I've seen."

"You done this to others?" Jon asked standing slowly up, Herian's bow in hand.

"No, but in other places, using magic can be pretty nasty. We've lucked out here and that it is very like my homeland, comes from a different place and much tamer but it speaks nice language."

"Language?" Jon asked.

"Listen." Herian said.

They stood in the middle of the forest, the place of power dulled now that its energy had been drawn on. Jon felt a hum in his bones, following through his body down into the ground. He closed his eyes and tilted his head, he could feel magic seeping up from the ground back into him, an endless cycle.

"It feels nice, comes from the ground." Jon said slurry slightly.

Herian nodded. Jon could feel her through the earth; she felt like a blizzard, raw power barely contained, there was some sickness inside of her that he didn't understand. It felt like a beast clawing at her insides one moment, then a tame companion the next.

Herian spoke softly. "Don't get to lost, come back to yourself. Places like this are rich in magic and of the nice kind, different places will feel different. Be careful when you do this, in places were bad things have happened, death, murder, treason, rape all the ill will of man will effect the magic of the land. Getting lost in such places will be much less comfortable then here." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze, sending a burst of her own magic through it.

Jon's eyes snapped open and he jumped away from her braking contact. "What was that?" he grabbed his hand, it almost felt burned.

"My magic, while I am in tune with the magic of this land, I only absorb the energy it provides. Then convert it within me to be my magic, as you have noticed its." She rubbed the back of her head and gave that half smile she did when looking for a word. "Wilder."

"Hurt." Jon said looking at his unmarred hand.

"Sorry, nature of the beast. You are still adapting to your magic, mine will be a bit much for you for a while yet. But you are back to yourself now?" The elf asked.

"Yeah." Jon said and picked up the fallen bow.

"Then we shall looked for a leshen totem, it will looked like a shrine with a deers head at the top. When we find it we are going to smash it, that will draw the leshen to us. Come here." Herain held out her hands. "Grasp my forearms and we'll see if we can't speed this hunt up. Its already noon."

While Jon was hesitant after begin shocked he was much to curious to let that stop him. Shouldering the bow he gasped her forearms and felt for lack of a better word, yanked out of his body.

Then they were in the earth, spirits flying along the roots of tree for guidance, then Herain would pull him up and they would look at the forest, then dive back down.

Jon looked over at Herian's spirit he assumed, she was a massive golden wolf in the root then when she pulled him up with her, she became a dragon. The dragon looked strange it was small and would flicker into the wolf shape often, then he released they were one and the same. It was unsettled prone to change, one minute it was a wolf grinning wildly as it raced over the ground, the next a dragon aching to soar. The Stark turned his gave to himself, he was a blue wolf, he could see his great big blue paws like a pup. To the left he felt a pulse of magic, then he was pulling Herian with him and spring free from the earth. Their spirit forms came to at stop before the Leshen totem.

A weathered deer head crowned a spine, with to human arms bending from the neck of the totem to the middle of the spine. Jon pulled his eyes away from and looked around, they were not to far from the place of power, under a great oak tree. There was a sharp tug behind his navel and he was back in his body, eyes snapping open.

Herian smiled at him much more softly then usually, it even reached the red pools of her eyes. Jon marvelled gazing into them for a moment, he had never seen a red to match them, brighter then blood yet to dark to be a flame.

"Nicely done." The elf said, her voice a deep hum.

"Can we do it again?" Jon asked grinning silly.

Herian laughed. "Yes, you can do that as often as you want. But remember what I said about places of people, it won't always be like that." She released his arms. "Come on then little wolf, lead the way." She gestured towards the northeast.

"I want to run." Jon said.

"Then run."

Jon took off like a bolt, Herian laughed and kept pace with him.

Jon never felt so alive before, he felt an endurance that he would have never dreamed off. With each step he could feel energy flowing into him, the forest humming around him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Herian peel off to the side to run up a fallen log then leap into the tree. She kept pace with him, leaping and swinging from one tree the next. Laughing with glee all the while. Only leaping back down to meet him with a roll when they arrived at the totem.

The elf looked up into the tree then said. "Here is the plan," she pointed to some bushes fifty paces away. "You will hide there and fill the thing full of arrows, if it get within thirty feet of you run away. Flank, turn tail and flee up to you, don't let it get close. It will draw roots up from the ground and keep you in place. I will be up in the tree, as it moves towards you I will leap from the tree and drive my sword through its skull. Sound good?" Herian asked.

"Yes. Why didn't you do this when you fought it before?" Jon asked innocently.

The elf smiled and walked over to the totem. "I'm not fast enough in this armour, had I remained in it, it would have slowed me down and the Leshen would have rooted me. All the fire magic in the world wouldn't have helped at that point, and I had to worry about the Direwolf mother. Speed was more important, now we fight on our terms." With that she smashed the totem and climbed up the tree.

Jon took off for his hiding stop, made sure he was well hidden and sat to wait.

Thankfully they didn't have to wait long, within half an hour the Leshen came lumbering into the clearing. Jon tried to keep his eyes popping out of his head.

It was shaped vaguely like a man, its skin was rough bark and it had a deer skull for a head. It stood over ten feet tall with moss hanging over its shoulders, long sharp wooden fingers strained red with blood.

Jon drew the bow back as he knelt in the bush and fired.

The black arrow struck the creature square in the shoulder and it screamed! A harsh sound, crows plummeted from the air and clawed and Jon's skin, he dove from his covered and fired again. This arrow struck the Leshens thigh and the monster started to lumber towards him, he could see fire scorch it, but it didn't get far before going out. The crows swarmed him and he lost sight of the monster, there was another blood curdling scream and the crows fled.

He watched as Herian stood atop the Leshens shoulder, and drove her black blade into its head. It fell with a thundering crash, the elf riding it down, the elf leaped from its shoulder and landed with a tumbling roll.

Jon sprinted over and looked down at the monster. "Wow, that worked."

Herian chuckled and put a foot and the Leshens head and pulled her blade out with some difficulty. "Never underestimate team work." She grabbed it by its head and hacked it from the rest of the body. Hosting the strange deer bone head up she said. "There now you have a trophy to show your father. After all I wouldn't have been able to do it without your help." That was a minor lie but Jon needed a confidence boost, so she felt it wouldn't hurt; plus he really did make it much easier.

Smirking, Herian threw the mutilated head at the young Stark with a small toss. The revolting prize flew through the air and made its way to the boy's hands. It took a bit of fumbling, the head was soaked in blood from its decapitation, but Jon eventually held his 'prize' with a tried sigh.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"Just scratches." Jon said putting a hand to his face, it came back bloody.

"I can heal them if you want, I should have thought of the crows, sorry."

"Its fine, you got the monster before they could really hurt me. What now?" Jon asked. He stuffed the Leshen's head into a small sack tried to his belt. It was meant for small animals, like a rabbit or things like it, but it would do.

Mostly.

"Now." Herian pulled one of the small knifes from her back. "You get your first lesson in alchemy and monster gutting."

The elf grabbed the Leshens shoulder and flipped it over with a heave. "So on a leshen, the useful bits are, the bark, blood and heart." She pulled her bag of off her shoulder and pulled out a number of vials. Popping one open she started to crave wood off of the creatures sternum. "The bark can be used to create a potion that will make your skill like wood, more resistant to cutting and cold." After she had filled her vial, she flipped the blade over and cut deep into its chest, then dug her hands into the cut and pulled it open. With a little purple light flickered, with expert grace she pulled it from the Leshen and put it into another vial then held it up for Jon to view better. "This is what we call essence, unlike the bark it is inherently magical. It can be used in a potion or crafted into an item, this one." She closed her eyes and focused on the little piece of magic. "Would increase the flow of magic to the user." Lastly she cut into the leshens' arm and let the green blood flow into yet another vial before cleaning and putting all her equipment away. "Any questions?"

Jon opened his mouth, and closed it again.

'Far too many to count.' The boy thought as he glanced down at the rather mutilated corpse of the Leshen and then back to Herian. Various files of even more strange substances now rested in her bag. Fluids, bits torn from the monster's body for a purpose the lad was still trying to wrap his head around. Honestly, it was rather mind boggling.

To try and hide his confusion, Jon shook his head and tried to focus on a question, "Given the trouble this thing gave you before, how do you know just what its...fluids will do for you in whatever it is you will be making?"

"It's not the first Leshen I've fought, just the first one to get the better of me. They usually a bit smaller, I've only got to experiment with there bits once before. So I gather the useful parts now and will hold onto them, then make something when I have a better idea of what I will need." She pulled the arrows from its hide and offered them to Jon.

"Ah," Jon muttered and put the arrows away.

Again, he glanced down at the slowly crumbling corpse. It was hard to imagine these creatures living in general, let alone there being smaller ones. Hopefully, this creature was as big as they often get.

Jon shivered at the thought. He would have to pay more attention during his strolls to the forest now. Lord knows no one should have to deal with one of these monsters whilst unaware.

"Right," he mused, "Least this is taken care of. And you even have some supplies now, not something you could have found back at the castle, that's for sure."

Herian chuckled. "Aye," then shrugged. "but you never know. Do you wish to hunt for more mundane prey?" she sniffed the air. "There is a boar coming this way, I think your father and the King might be chancing it though. And there is a deer a ways off to the east."

Jon looked up, surprised, "Lord Stark and the King?"

The kid hadn't been aware that they were so close. He knew that his Father and the King would be hunting that day, but thought it would be much farther off.

Though, chasing the Leshen through the forest might have knocked them a bit off course. Jon closed his eyes and thought for a moment, "Hm. Given that he is with the King, I would not want to intrude on my father's hunt. Perhaps we should try to find something else lurking around, as you said."

"As you wish." She grabbed the Leshen by the arm and hauled it around to the far side of the tree and arranged it to look like more roots. "Best keep this out of sight for now."

"Good idea, I don't think the King and his people would be able to wrap there minds around it." Jon said still working on wrapping his own brain around it, but bit by bit he was getting there. The hum from the forest helped in that regard.

"Keep the bow for now, I want to see how you hunt. Your stride has improved a great deal from when we started." The elf started eastward, steps turning silent, body lowered to the ground.

Jon followed suit, this stealth thing was new to him but he could appreciate it. It was interesting to see more of the wildlife that usually hid from humans. Birds, squirrels, all manner of small animal; they walked silently for a few minutes, then could hear the sound of dogs and the hunting horn.

Herian gestured for him to sink lower to the ground as they hid among the firs.

The black haired boy watched as a boar went crashing through the brush north of them, the hunt fast on its trail. Already he could appreciate Herians' style of hunting more, it didn't scare off all the prey. The elf tapped him on the shoulder and pointed.

A stag came thundering their way, startled by the hunt. Jon drew and fired, the stag went down with thunk.

"Nice shot." Herian said as they walked over to there kill, again Herian pulled out the arrow and Jon put it back in the quiver.

The elf grabbed the deer by the front legs and heaved it over her shoulder.

Jon stared. "It's that a bit heavy?"

Herian grimaced and pushed the deer onto her shoulder a bit more firmly. "A bit," the stag was bigger than the woman. "but I'll manage."

Jon nodded and they started back the way they had come, marvelling at the song of the forest.

Animals scampered in the distance. Winds drifted through the vast tree-lines, a breeze shifting though the leaves that sat above their heads. The soft crackling of dirt underneath their feet filled the duo's ears, all whilst the made their way back down the path they had arrived from.

The trip was a long one of course, hours drifted past like a summer breeze. The rays of the sun disappeared behind the treeline as its bright light shifted into an orange glow. Air became chilled and Jon rubbed his hands together to keep harm. Through the forest, the shadows became more pronounced, sending chills down the young Stark's back.

Against the dark vastness of the forest, Jon cast his gaze to the side briefly, again and again. It was as if somewhere, something was keeping watch. The bleak, specs of light in the distance were like eyes, several, hundreds of little orbs burning into the back of his skull. During their journey, the young Stark felt his hand twitch at his side, toward the bow and a fresh arrow.

At odds to the boy's uncertainty, Herian merely marched on without a hint of hesitation. The deer's carcass remained draped over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Even still, the elf smiled at the soft echoes she heard in the distance.

To one it was an unknown, and to another; it was a familiar sound, like an old friend.

After several hours of walking, the endless stretch of trees, bushes, and leaves gave way to a stone pathway, stuck in-between two seconds of forest on either side. Gone was the soft dirt and mud of the forest In a way, it was like emerging out of a thick wall of fog only to discover you were just feet away from the front door of your home.

Jon let out a long relieved sigh. Down the long twisted road, a massive stone structure appeared just beyond the massive forest, just beyond the sea of trees.

The massive stone walls, sectioned by colossal chunks of grey stone. Atop the gigantic structure were guards, the setting sun shining off their worn and aged armour. At the end of the twisting path Jon and Herian, there stood a large, imposing gate with two men standing guard. It had only been a few hours and yet? The boy almost felt as if he had been gone for a year.

Herian chuckled, "Happy to be home lad?"

"Alarmingly so," Jon muttered. He didn't even waste the effort to hide it, "I'm not even sure I could be so relieved to see these walls again, and yet here I am, almost aching for my bed."

Despite slightly lagging behind the boy, the elf couldn't resist from smirking, "Ah, well don't get too excited. I figured that walking in with this beast might draw some looks."

Jon's shoulders slumped, "Do you think we might, avoid that for now?"

There were many ways he could describe the hunt. It was enlightening, disturbing, violent, and quite bloody. Especially with Herian's brief lesson on the innards of a Leshen. Out of all though, Jon could honestly say it was exhausting. He could barely feel his feet, there had to be blisters underneath his boots.

After the long hunt, the drawn out walk back, and now their return, the Stark couldn't focus on anything aside his own bed. It might have been the only thing of importance in that massive fortress. Everything else? Jon would much rather of avoid.

Perhaps the Ranger knew of a way to easily sneak past some of the uncertain gazes. With all her tricks and potions, there had to be something that could make the trip less bothersome.

Speaking of the elf, Harian shifted the deer atop her shoulders and raised one of her hands.

"That," she mused, "May be harder than one could expect."

Confused for a brief moment, Jon swiftly found himself with his answer.

Whilst she still had the animal's corpse atop her shoulders, the elf managed to lift one of her arms and pointed toward the main courtyard of the massive fortress. Said yard was massive in scale and often had at least one or two people, often guards, walking though it at any given time.

Now however, to call the yard 'crowded' would be nothing short than a drastic understatement. From the castle's gate, one could see a literal horde of people standing just outside the main entrance to the main building. Guards, servants, and nobles stood around the main doors, talking and chatting whilst the sun set in the distance.

Having just arrived, Jon could barely believe his eyes. The boy rubbed his tired gaze and checked to see if he was imagining things. But whilst his gaze turned blurry, the echoing chatter did not fade into the distance.

"What is going on?" he muttered, flabbergasted.

Harien smirked at the boy's dumbstruck expression. Yet, she wasn't done. Whilst Jon continued to look on, the elf focused her gesture and directed the boy's eyes to the very center of the crowd's attention. The point the mass of people had positioned themselves around.

Slowly, Jon narrowed his eyes and drew his attention to focus on where she had pointed to. Once the boy saw what she was directing him towards however, the young Stark raised his own hand and rubbed his eyes.

"Of course," he grumbled, "Why did I not see this first?"

At the very center of the crowd were about a dozen people Each had their own steads, much like Jon's own. Many were dressed like the guards of the castle, armed and standing at attention. But two of the figures stood out, and for good reason.

Lord Stark and the King were at the very heart of the crowd, having returned from their own hunt long before Jon and Harien had made their return. It was almost baffling in some respects. The young boy was certain he and the elf had left long before his father had if their close call in the forest was to be believed. Yet there they were, amongst a crowd of people marvelling at quite the successful outing.

Whilst Jon stared with a wide gaze, Harien stepped forward and gave the boy a slight nudge.

"Do you still think we'll be able to sneak past without being noticed?"

Jon turned to look at her, yet silence was all that came about.

Upon placing one foot into the courtyard, the duo found the peaceful tranquillity of the forest to be a thing of the past. Loud voices assaulted their ears like war drums. Men and women chatted amongst themselves, blissfully unaware of how loud they were being. Jon swiftly found himself missing the silence of the forest, how it seemed to whisper in his ear without hesitation. Here felt different not bad but more chaotic and temporary.

As unsettling as it had been, at least it had been quiet enough for the boy to think to himself.

Least, when there wasn't a man eating creature trying to split his head in two.

As the elf and young lad marched their way into the confines of the massive fortress, their presence did not go unnoticed for long. Both eyes and ears turned to the sound of new arrivals, but many were unprepared for what stood in front of them.

Both the Lord of House Stark and the King himself turned to the sound of new arrivals, and yet stopped at what they saw. The King felt his jaw drop whilst Ned bit back a slight chuckle.

"Well," he laughed, "That certainly explains where you two have been."

In front of King, the Lord, and their onlookers, Jon and Harien stood with their catch in front of all for them to see. Unlike the King's party, the duo had their catch not tied to the back of a horse or carried by others as they returned. The only thing that kept the dead deer from rotting on the ground was the elf herself. She supported the massive beast across her rather small shoulders despite the strain it would have caused any other man.

It almost defied expectation, and yet their eyes did not lie. It was late into the afternoon and any feeling of a hangover had long since drifted away with the thrill of a good hunt.

The King was at a loss for words, "Well, I'll be."

Ned, whilst equally as shocked, said nothing on the matter. Instead, he merely looked on with amusement as Harien approached. The crowd quickly parted way, allowing the Ranger to easily stroll towards her lord without trouble despite the mighty weight atop her shoulders.

"My Thane," she greeted, "It seems as if you've had quite the prosperous hunt."

Ned nodded. "That we had. Though from where I am standing, it seems as if that should be my line."

Raising a brow, the elf shot a look at the beast atop her shoulders. Even after hours of walking, she could still smell the fresh scent of the kill and the blood that leaked from Jon's mark. It made her inner wolf hungry, that said it also made it easier to carry, with her wolf so close to her skin.

Even still, to merely add to the absurdity of the sight before everyone's eyes, Harien shrugged her shoulders and rolled her neck, "Oh, this? A good catch if I were to say. The lad managed to befall the beast quite swiftly. We had hoped to find something of a bit more substance, but this seemed to do good enough."

Once more, an awkward silence filled the air. The massive deer had to be at three times her size and yet, small was it? For a creature such as that, many of the North's hunters would not often consider it small by any means.

Needless to say, many were at a loss of words.

Ned, thankfully, was not one of them, "So you say"

Shifting his gaze from the Ranger and her prey, Ned turned his gaze toward the young lad that rode behind her. Whilst most were focused on Harien and the massive creature she held, Jon silently approached from behind, almost a background noise to the crowd's attention.

"So, this was your kill?" Ned asked.

At the sudden question, Jon blinked. The lad lifted his gaze from the dirt, its 'favourite spot' as he walked through the crowd, and turned to his father. Unprepared, he glanced at his bow, the memories of the event drifting to the forefront of his mine. "It was."

"A fine mark," Ned complimented, "I see but one wound on the beast. I never knew you had such a skill with a bow."

Jon fidgeted in place, not used to such praise, "To be honest, neither had I. I just assume that it was a lucky shot, is all."

At this son's words, Ned pulled back his head and let loose a mighty laugh, "Luck? Don't be so coy. Luck would be nailing the beast as if tried to flee. That would be luck."

The Head of House Stark stepped forward and placed his hands on his son's shoulders, "You made a fine kill. Don't wave it off as something as trivial as luck."

Jon lowered his gaze, unable to meet his father's own. Reluctance aside though, the boy manged a small smile. He nodded, as small as it might have been. Behind him, Harien's smirk went unnoticed, as she had planned, though she was thankful that she had donned her helm on the way in.

"Of course."

Ned smiled, a larger one than his son. The Stark patted the lad across his shoulders, "Very good. Now that you're here though, seems about a good time as any for my decision."

Now Jon just blinked, "Decision?"

The larger of the Starks nodded once more. Releasing the young lad, Ned turned in place and turned his attention back to the crowd, the king included. The horde of onlookers once more focused on Winterfell's lord, almost having forgotten about the two new arrivals.

Unbeknownst to them, Jon sighed with relief while the elf shook her head.

"As the news of our return might be on the minds of all of you, there is a much more pressing matter to attend to." he told the crowd, his voice echoing amongst the large sum of people.

Ned turned to the king, "Your majesty, earlier you asked of me a rather important question. A request upon me that you were quite intent on getting an answer for. So much that you hounded me more than this beast."

Off to the side, Ned gestured toward a large corpse. Laid across the ground, top a large wheel barrow was the carcass of a massive bore. Jon recognized from the one he and Herian had nearly stumbled upon. Seems his father and the King had been successful in their hunt as well.

Near the beast, the King, Robert Baratheon frowned at his friend's choice of words. Though he couldn't hide a small chuckle either, "I don't remember being that direct with you."

"That might have been the booze talking then, but I remember." Ned noted, "But after such a prosperous outing, I think I have made my decision."

Robert raised a brow, as did many of those present. Jon looked confused whilst Herian crossed her arms. She just had to hear this, if for the reactions alone.

"Have you now?"

The Stark nodded, "I have."

In the company of dozens of men, women, servants, and guards. Those he knew and cared for, and those he had not but trust in, Ned turned to everyone and gave a healthy nod.

"As per the King's request, I shall take the position so generously offered." he explained, "If his majesty shall have me, than by my honor, I will become your right hand. The King's Hand, to defend and protect you for as long as you'd require."

In front of the crowd, his family, and his own home, Ned turned to the King and bowed. Gasps and shocked expressions filled the air. Most, if not all of those who watched found themselves stunned to silence. Jon's jaw nearly fell, lost for words. The King's face lit up in a massive gin, his cheeks puffing out with joy. The guards looked on proudly, their weapons clutched in their hands.

At the very back end of the crowd, the deer still across her shoulders, Herian looked on.

For several minutes, no one spoke. There were no words, no shouts, no whispers, and no roars. The crowd looked frozen, locked in place as if they were statures across the top of the wall. Then, after what seemed like an endless silence, the quiet, chilling soundless atmosphere…

It shattered.

Roars of applause echoed out like a thunderous explosion. Applause shook the courtyard as subject's voices echoed into the sky. The residents of Winterfell were louder than cannon fire, shaking the landscape well beyond the borders of the castle walls.

Kng Robert laughed heartily.

The massive man stepped forward with arms wide and a massive grin on his face. Though exhausted from the day's events, the king could not keep his joy from showing. He looked almost as if he was in bliss!

"Grand! Just Grand! Ned my friend! You have no idea how happy this makes me." he chuckled.

Ned almost rolled his eyes, "No, I am quite sure that I have an idea of that, my lord."

"Ah, so so. But that means even more to me! Such a decision calls for much! We much celebrate. Drinks all around! There is no time like the present!"

The Stark raised a brow, "Robert, don't you think you've had enough to drink already? I was almost sure you were considering postponing our hunt earlier because your, head hurt?"

The king waved his hand, "Ah, was but a minor irritation. Can't let that stop me now."

Still laughing, Robert turned to the crowd and waved his arms to all those present, "Everyone! Everyone! Inside. There shall be refreshments for all! Come no, come now! My treat!"

Once more, cheers exploded forth from the crowd, like a second volley of arrows piercing the sky. It was enough to shake Jon from his stupor, as well as make Herian laugh at how easily the crowd had been worked up. It was like waving a piece of meat in front of a hungry dog's face.

"I am unsure how much I appreciate you starting another feast after last nights." Ned noted, "I believe our kitchens are already half empty from then."

"Ah, then I'll send out for more!" The King replied, "Come now, don't be such a wet blanket. There must be some celebration! Today, if any day!"

Ned shook his head with a sigh. As much as he would have liked to argue with his friend's choice of words, he knew that look. The cheerful expression in his eyes, the laugh in his gut, there was little that could be done. The King had made up his mind, and as much as a goof he could be, there wasn't much that could change his mind after that.

With no other objections, Robert let out another laugh and directed everyone to follow him inside. The other members of the hunting party quickly got to work dragging the boar away, likely towards the kitchen whilst everyone else swiftly followed the King inside.

One of them offered to take the deer carcass from Herian, but she respectfully refused. She could handle it herself. The crowd swiftly began piling into the main structure, one after another. Ned followed suit as well, though stopped just short of the main door.

As others passed him, the Stark turned in place and glanced over his shoulder. He spotted Jon, standing near where the crowd had once been. Upon his face, the boy's expression was hard to spot, though reluctance was there. The boy remembered how his last attendance to the King's festivities. The cold chill of the late night winds crossed his mind once more.

Before he could lament on the mistakes of the previous night, a sudden snap caught his attention. Jon looked up and saw his father.

Many men and women passed the Stark by as they entered the building but he paid them no mind. Instead, Ned raised an arm and gestured the boy to follow. There was no order, no demand, but instead a smile. A single, warm smile upon the man's bearded face.

Jon blinked his eyes wide as can be. For a moment, he stood still, feet unresponsive to the rest of his body. Yet after a good long look at his father's face, the boy smiled.

As Ned stood there, Jon slowly walked over and the two Starks made their way inside.

And all during the commotion, Herian stood back. She watched as the courtyard emptied, the guests, the servants, the guards. Even her thane and his son, they all piled into the structure, their loud voices disappearing into the massive structure as they chatted with one another. The elf smirked at the commotion and shook her head.

"Always so noisy." she chuckled, "But, fun is fun."

* * *

Inside the colossal structure, the halls of Wintefell became a thunderous echo of chatter and laughter. The main hall became littered with people. Drinks were passed around haphazardly, and food was brought out from the kitchen. It was no feast, not yet anyway, but the foundations were already being prepared.

King Robot laughed amongst a small crowd of his pears, laughing joyfully. He entertained many with tales of the hunt that took place hours before, though with the King's own personal flair. Exaggerations or not, the men and woman laughed alongside the King.

Far across the main hall, the Starks entertained themselves, though in a much reserved manner. There were less loud, bombastic yelling and wine flying from their cups.

During the festivities, Jon stood nearby, a cup in hand and a small smile on his face. In the rush of things he had yet to remove his hunting attire, even the bow strapped to the back of his belt. It didn't bother the lad in the slightest however, in fact, he barely even noticed.

'So this is what its like…' he mused to himself.

If not for the rude actions of a rather important person, Jon imagined that this is what he had missed the previous night. The laughs, the smiling, the joyous tales spoken in the background, all of it made the air feel alive, almost brimming with cheer.

Whilst Jon stood off to the side though, someone briefly passed the young lad and bumped into him. The lad stumbled forward as apologizes were traded, but as the man departed, the young Stark felt something large and round bounce off his back.

Reaching back, the boy swiftly grabbed the object. As he did though, Jon felt his eyes widen.

"Oh-" he muttered, "-right."

Across Jon's back was a large burlap sack, stretched to its limits by whatever was held inside. The bag itself was small but pressed outward by something within it. Something wet, damp, and rather hard.

Realization struck Jon like a rather hard smack to the side of his head. He placed his cup on a nearby table, removed the strap from around his shoulder and held the sack between his hands.

The 'trophy' from the hunt. In the commotion, Jon had completely forgotten about it.

"Ah, remembered that, have you?"

Jon snapped his head up and bit back a gasp. Among the loud and numerous voices that filled the air, one pierced through the loud echoes and almost whispered into his ear. It was not an unfamiliar voice, but was one that startled the lad all the same.

"Wha-when did?!" he stuttered.

Herian leaned herself against a nearby column, arms crossed and hood over her head, helm hiding her features. The elf had both arms crossed over her chest and a small smile on her face. Gone was the deer from her shoulders, not even a hint of it was left.

Not even the scent.

Gazing at the elf, Jon let his shoulders slump. The Stark rubbed the side of his face and let out a long, drawn out sigh, "You, really, really need to stop doing that. You hear?"

"Hm, perhaps." the elf mused, "But, maybe you should be more aware of your surroundings, or the thing you have strapped to your back, perhaps?"

Jon opened his mouth to rebuttal such a claim, but swiftly shut it. Embarrassingly, Jon glanced down at the blood soaked bag in his hands and sighed. He could still barely believe that he had forgotten such a thing. It was right next to him throughout the whole trip! Hell, his coat was surely soaked with green blood by this point.

Herian's smirk did not make things any better though.

"Perhaps," he sighed, "I should go throw this in my quarters. Better to have it there rather than here, where someone might accidentally look in it and faint in shock."

Given the amount of booze that was going around, Jon had hopes that would be the best outcome if someone accidentally stumbled upon the bag. The worst though? He'd rather not think about it.

The elf shrugged, "A good decisions. But, I would think my Thane should see it first before that."

"My father? Why?"

Herian pushed herself off the pillar and gave the youth a shrug, "It will do him comfort to know that such a beast no longer hunts the woods so close to his home. And with it dead by our hands, it would go even further to prove my stories to him."

"And you think transforming in front of he and myself wasn't enough?" Jon deadpanned.

Again, the elf shrugged, "You cannot have more proof. Now, what do you say?"

Once more, Jon drew silent. He looked down at the sack in his hand. Through the damp burlap he felt the distinct shape of the Leshen's head, soaked in its own blood and surely just as ugly as it had been a few hours ago.

The Ranger's points were there, and deep inside himself, Jon had another to make. Proof was easily shown with the creature's head, the woods were not safe of its savage nature, and whilst his father had not seen the deep, inner beauty of the forest, the creature's head would make due.

Perhaps, knowing that his son, bastard or not had helped such an accomplishment would come to place the young lad even deeper into his father's graces.

Maybe, just maybe.

Jon sighed, "Very well. I'll go fetch him."

Herian smirked and waved one of her fingers n front of Jon's face, "Ah, no need. I know just where he'd be. Just wait here and I shall fetch my Thane."

Pressing forward, Jon watched as the elf drew her hood across her head and ventured into the massive crowd. Without her there, the young Stark was once more left by himself. Well, himself and the decapitated head of a Leshen that was resting in a sack of its own bloody fluids.

"Well," he grumbled, "This is pleasant."

For several moments, Jon simply stood with the bag in hand and waited for his 'teacher's' return. The sudden party continued in the background, voices echoing against the large ceiling of the main chamber. It was loud, many people talking at once like a constant blowing of the wind outside. For the lad's sake, it helped take his mind off the eventuality of opening the sack in his father's presence.

'Oh lord, don't let him have had too much to drink.' he hoped, 'This thing was gruesome enough when it was alive, I'd hate to see its revolting face now, while tipsy.'

As the disgusting hope simmered in Jon's head, a familiar pair emerged from the crowd and left it behind. Stealth-fully as always, Herian approached the youth's solitary corner at the end of the chamber with Ned in tow.

The Lord of the house looked amused as he followed his new familiar. He held a drink in hand and looked rather curious as to what Herian had to show him. It was not often that the elf would reveal herself in public and drag him away as she did. Had to either be very important, or she simply could not contain herself and just had to get him to see something.

Ned chuckled and took a sip of his drink.

If he was a betting man, he surely would have placed a bit of gold on the second option.

Across the massive hall, the pair walked up to Jon without much issue. The other partiers were too enthralled in their own tales and goings on to even notice the two. Jon figured Herian might have been the cause of that.

When he finally arrived within ear shot of his son, Ned brought his drink to his mouth and gave Jon a nod.

"Lad," he greeted, "As fun as the endless stories the King seems to have, I was told you had something you wanted to speak to me about?"

The young Stark let out a sigh. He spared the elf a look but there was no help there. The Ranger seemed to have the need to get things rolling without even giving the boy a chance to make small talk.

Might as well, would have been hard to think of something that could lead into this.

Sparing the burlap sack a glance, Jon shook his head at his father, "Yes, there is."

"Though, would you mind us having it in a more, private place?" he asked, "Somewhere with less prying eyes and ears that could have a habit of listening in?"

Ned raised a brow, "Some privacy?"

The newly crowned Hand of the King glanced over his shoulders at the crowd. He spared a moment to listen in on the constant talking and gibberish that engulfed the hall. So many people with so many voiced, chattering without a care in the world.

After a moment, Ned shrugged, "Why not? Would be better to have at least something that doesn't spread across the hall like wild fire."

Jon let loose a sigh of relief. His fingers stopped shaking, somewhat at least, and the bag between the boy's hands felt just a bit lighter for the time being.

Swallowing his breath, the young Stark glanced over his shoulder. Less than a few feet from where the three stood was a long hallway. Cobblestone and a few torches lined the passage, likely a path towards a deeper portion of the castle. Far out of the way, and a nice spot for some words.

Jon poked his head at the hall's direction and stepped toward it. Ned and Herian shared a glance with one another and without a word, followed suit. The two Starks and single elf marched out of the main hall of the keep and strolled down one of Winterfell's numerous halls.

As they walked, the sounds and echoes of the main chamber vanished by the wayside. The laughter, the cheering, the stories, and drunken mumbling all slowly disappeared the further the trio made their way into the long hallway. Eventually, there was but soft mumbling in the distance. Of the three, the elf could still hear the bombastic laughter of the King, but paid it no mind.

By her eyes, they were alone. Finally.

A sentiment that Ned shared as well, "I think this is far enough. No one around for a good while."

The lord once again looked to his son, "If you have something to show me, now seems to be the best of times I think."

Jon looked up at the man in front of him. Slowly, the boy glanced back down at the sack. Hesitation crawled up the young lad's arms like the chill of winter making itself known. The sack was still damp, and the coppery tinge of blood filled the air.

After what seemed like a good few minutes, Jon turned his gaze to the Ranger, the person who gaddly claimed this 'trophy' in the first place. If there was anyone who should tell his father, than it likely would have been her.

Herian met the gaze, but shook her head. The elf crossed her arms and gave the lad a single look. It wasn't a stern glare or anything of the sort. Instead, Jon almost felt as if he had been nudged forward.

There was little way out of this it seemed.

Swallowing as much confidence as he could muster, the Stark glanced down at his hands one last time and muttered, "That it is."

Jon lifted the bloodied sack up and pushed it forward. With his father watching, the lad parted his hands and reached toward the very top of the sack. At the very peak of the bloodied tarp of burlap was a haste-fully tied piece of rope. It too was soaked and blood, and looked to be barely holding on.

With but a tug, the young Stark undid the knot. The piece of rope fell to the ground in a wet, sloppy splat. By Ned's eyes, he watched as Jon slowly and rather gruesomely pulled the sack down around whatever it contained. Every tug was followed by another wet, squishy slap, and the scent of blood filled the air more than the kitchen when a big was freshly slaughtered.

It took but a moment, yet felt like an hour, but eventually the bag fell to the ground as well. The green burlap sack hit the ground as the knot did, with a wet splat. The cobblestone became drenched in blood, smelling more of copper than the forge itself did.

Jon spoke up, "We went on a hunt this morning, as did you. But while you and his majesty hunted a boar, we had a much more devious creature in our sights."

In the middle of one of Winterfell's halls, in between the hands of one of its lord's sons was a gruesome, disgusting sight.

A head, larger than a human and covered with far more blood than was necessary. Its neck was sliced and chopped, pieces of meat still hanging down from the bloody deed. At first glance it appeared to be a deer skull; remains of horns could be seen atop its matted head along with the basic shape of such a creature. Ned only needed one glance at the remains to know however, that such was not the case. Not in the least.

As the blood soaked Jon's hands, Herian spoke up, "When I first awoke, I told you of a creature that killed those pup's mother and left me to die in that river."

"It was a Leshen, a spirit of the forest," she explained, "And now, there is one less roaming around the trees near your castle."

Ned was silent, speechless for a moment or two, "This, this is what you were telling me about?"

Standing next to her Thane, the Ranger crossed her arms and nodded, "Down to the bone. When Jon and I encountered it, the creature still had some of the wounds from our previous scrap. It had recovered since then, but the scars were there."

The Stark nodded dumbly. He had to take her word on that. Having just the head made checking for scars rather difficult, and there was enough blood there to begin with.

"I see," Ned muttered, "Then, the morning you two spent was for hunting this thing down, and not hunting that deer you brought back here?"

Again, Herian nodded, "More or less. That creature just so happened to stumble upon us right after we had killed this one. Poor thing, it had no idea of what it had found. And had even less of one when it received an arrow between its eyes."

Ned blinked, "Fair enough."

That settled, Ned narrowed his eyes. He took a good look at the decomposing head, or at least as close as he would have preferred. Dead men were one thing, but such a creature was revolting to the eyes more so than the most decayed of corpses.

"You are certain that it is dead?" he asked.

Both Jon and Herian nodded, "It is. The creature is durable, but if there is one thing I'm sure of, its that not even something like that beast can get up again without its head."

Both Starks winced, "I would hope so." Ned muttered.

Having the entire creature walking around was one thing, but having a headless Leshen still roaming the forests would have been an even more horrifying manner.

Ned made a note regarding hunting parties and warning them about some headless creature that COULD be in the forest somewhere. Doubt they'd listen, but at least they'd have his warning.

The Stark took a step back, set down his drink, and rubbed his eyes. The urge to simply poor out his drink was there, but he had a feeling he'd need it in a few minutes. Hell. May need to rush back to the party for another sooner than expected as well.

"I would say this is good news," Ned sighed, "That thing, can't help but feel like I could have used a bit of warning though when you dragged me over here."

Herian smirked, "Well, I wanted it to be a surprise."

"No more surprises then. They're bad for my heart."

The Ranger smirked, "Oh don't be such a baby. Oh, by the way, how would you like to know about a Leshen's heart when we're on the subject? I already went over it with Jon, and it does have many uses!"

Whilst Herian shot a near shit eating grin at his father, Jon lowered the Leshen's head and let out a sigh. Much to his relief, showing Ned the creature's head had gone much better than he had imagined. Though knowing him, the lad couldn't imagine his father reacting any worse to such a thing.

He was the Lord of House Stark for a reason, aside his blood.

Lowering his hands, Jon glanced at the decapitated head for a moment, 'Well then,'

'What should I do with you know-'

"EDDARD!"

Though the stone lidded hall the three found themselves in, a sudden shout echoed down the hallway like a banshee's scream. Jon's thoughts came to an abrupt halt, and whatever grin Herian had at the moment dropped from her face. Even Ned, uncomfortable as he was, turned around.

Concern found itself on the man's face.

Ranger, father, and son all turned their attention toward one of the ends of the hall. Much to their surprise, it was not the end that had led back to the main hall, and the party brewing inside. Instead, the shout came from the opposite end of the hall.

From the other end, came not a random drunkard, shouting to the heavens for some ungodly reason that only another drunkard could understand.

Jon blinked, "Lady Stark?"

Ned's wife, and the Lady of House Stark came running from the opposite end of the hall, her every step sending an echo through the stone pathway in a hurry. She rushed toward the group, running as if she was being chased by hell itself.

As she finally reached the trio, Catelyn rushed right by Jon, paying him no mind at all. Instead, the woman rushed right up to her husband, her expression not even close to the cold, indifferent aloofness that many had come to know the woman for.

What the three saw instead, was terror. Shear, unrivaled terror.

"Catelyn?" Ned asked, concerned, "What is it? Whats wrong?"

For a moment, Lady Stark stood there, her voice but a series of gasps and huffs. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire, and her shoulders shook like tree branches in the heaviest of storms.

Despite her exhaustion, Catelyn raised her trembling arms and grabbed her husband's arms. Her grip was tight, almost deathly so. Ned felt her nails through the heavy hide of his coat.

"C-come, now-" she gasped, "I, I need you. R-right this moment-!"

Ned grabbed his wife by the shoulders, steadying her, "Why? What has happened?"

Catelyn looked up, her eyes meeting her husband's own, "Its-its Bran!"

"I, I don't know what happened-someone found him earlier today. Outside. They think he fell from a great height, I'm-I'm not sure! But he won't wake up! I'm not sure what to do! I need you with him, now!" she cried, "If he doesn't wake up soon, he may die!"

 **Slightly less edited then normal, but then its longer then normal. We worked in a nod to the Game of Thrones magic.**


	5. Chapter 5

Healing

Eddard to the lead as they part all but ran to Brans room, when they arrived Bran was tucked in under many pelts and sleeping peacefully. Eddard ran a hand over his beard and walked to Brans side.

"Will he be alright Luwin?" Ned asked taking his sons had.

"Impossible to say my Lord, he fell from quite a distance. I have done the best I can."

Lady Stark came up to Brans other side, she looked like she was about to try. Herian and Jon stood in the doorway, Jon figured his chest and looked at Herian. Neither Stark missed the exchange.

"Can you help?" Ned asked, his voice thick.

Herian stepped slowly into the room and pulled her helm off, setting it on the end of the bed. Gently she hopped onto it and pressed the tips of her figures to Brans stomach.

"What are you doing?" Lady Stark asked, hostility starting to boil.

"Calm Cat." Ned said and watched the elf's eyes close and her brow nite, a few blue sparks flitted from her palm into Bran.

Herian spoke her voice harsh yet soft. "I am no healer, but I can help." With that a large wave of blue fog flowed from the elf and she looked through Bran.

Jon felt the outpouring of magic and swiftly crossed the room and knelt on the floor, after a few frantic moments of trying he leaped from himself into that place of magic he had ran through earlier. Instead of running this time, he jumped up onto the bed as his spirit wolf to watch the elf work.

Herians mind flowed through muscle, and tissue followed the currents of Bran, she mended the bruising on his back, then turned her attention to his spine. She could see the broken bones, severed tendons and torn nerves. The bones would be easiest so she would start with them.

Lord and Lady Stark as well as Master Luwin jumped when they heard loud cracks and the Maester had to hold Cat back when she reached for Bran.

Herain first restored the places of the vertebrae then fortified the marrow within them. Next she turned to the nerves, oh so carefully storing them in time with the tendons. It was long work, time lost all meaning to the elf.

Ned watched the sweat start to gather around the elf's brow, how her chest started to heave. He glanced over to Jon, but the look of absence on his sons face gave him the impression that no one was home.

Jon's blue spirit wolf softly stepped over to Herian and put his head on her shoulder, unconsciously leading her power. He felt the hot power of the elf, the dragon stir to gaze at him, before shifting its attention back to his brother.

Only when Herian was confident that Bran would walk again did she follow his spine up to his head. Blood was swelling in his brain, there already was damage, her brain was different then his. She pulled away to look through Jon, to view his body through the wolf at her side before returning to Bran. She carefully persuaded the blood to stop pooling, then drew the excess out from Bran.

Lady Stark shrieked when blood seeped through Brans skin, Ned was thankfully clear enough in mind to drag a bowl to catch it as it floated above his boy.

Herian repaired Brans skull and the muscle around it, his brain was now safe, but she didn't dare touch it more. Slowly she pulled out of Bran and back to herself, the blue flow faded away and Herian nearly fell of the bed, when she came back to herself.

Ned saw the elf start to sway and grabbed her, holding the small woman to his chest and she panted. Jon returned to his body and stood up with a wobble, he leaned against the bed exhausted.

"What was that?" He croaked his throat very dry.

Herian reached out and grabbed his hand. "Thank you for your help, I wouldn't have been able to do anything for Brans head without you." Herian allowed her head to rest on Ned's shoulder; she was tired more tired than three days of running would make her.

"What did you do?" Cat looked from Bran to Herian and Jon.

Jon looked at the elf, he could see the slight panting she was still doing.

"We healed him Lady Stark, Herian has been teaching me a very little of her gifts. I saw that her strength was failing and gave her mine, I think we fixed his spine and helped his head." Jon looked back at Herian. "Is that right?"

The elf nodded into Ned's shirt. "He will be able to walk, but he should take it slow. I did what I could for his brain, removed the blood pressuring it and fixed his skull." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"What you could?" Lady Stark asked.

"My brain is different than yours, I used Jons as a start and only mended what I knew would not harm him. Please stop asking me questions, I am tired, I haven't used magic like that in ages. He will wake, he will be fine." Herian couldn't help it, a very small wolven whine escaped her throat.

"Sleep." Ned said and pulled her hood up to hid her face and picked her up from the bed. The large man looked over to Jon. "Go get some rest as well."

Jon nodded, put the elf's helm on her stomach and departed.

Ned looked over to his wife. "It will be alright Cat, I trust Herian. Give it time." He departed from the room before his wife could wrap her head around his statement and set off for Herians small tower room. The staff cleared out of his way and he checked to make sure the elf's skin was hidden. Thankfully it was, the King approached him.

"What happened?" He reached for the elf.

Ned took a step back and held her to his chest. "Please my King, she does not like to be touched."

"Answer the question Ned." Robert voice took on a hit of command.

"My vassal helped Bran at a personal cost, she is confident he will be fine. Please excuse me my King, I would like to get her to her bed." Ned stepped around the king and picked up a swift pace to her room.

A glare from the man cleared the way, when he arrived at Herian's room he set the elf on her bed before returning to shut and lock the door.

"Nosy people." He turned back to Herian, she had not stirred since he picked her up. He glanced over her armour, the grey cloth she wore to obscure it had rucked up to reveal smooth black plains. "Well sleeping in armour is not comfortable." He walked back to the bed and started undoing the notes and broaches that held he grey cloth in place. The knots were elaborate and it took him several minute to get through them all, but eventually he pulled the grey cloth away.

Despite himself he ran a hand over the woman's stomach, the armour was warm and as smooth as the finest glass. He could see it flex and relax with every breath Herian made, the plates wrapped around her body like a glove. He had never seen a design like her armour, to wrap around her hips to the small of her back, with a whole separate piece fitting down over her stomach. Three more made up her chest plates, one for each breast and another between them. The rest of the armour followed the same theme, long swooping curves, leaf like elegance. Eventually he found the straps, it took some doing, they were well shielded and piece by piece he pulled they heavy plates off of her. For they were heavy, much heavier than any of their armours. The gauntlets alone were a good fifteen pounds each.

"How do you even move in this?" Ned asked the sleeping woman as he pulled of her pauldrons, at least double the weight of the gauntlets. No wonder the straps were so sturdy and made of something he didn't know of. It took him the better part of an hour to get the rest of the armour off her; she only wore standard undergarments beneath it. Rather than the several layers that his men required.

Ned ran a finger of her stomach, marvelling at the lack of pressure lines. He could see the muscle under her skin, though it was subtle. Ned pulled his hand away once he released what he was doing and pulled the furs over her. He departed the room and made sure the room locked behind him.

A sum distance from where the Stark and the elf had disappeared, sound and noise echoed throughout the stone covered halls. Men and women, charges and servants prepared much for the recent announcement their lord had made.

Maids packed for the trip, gathering the necessary attire for their Lord's travel. They placed the clothing in larges cases, for it was certain to be a long trip away from the walls of the castle.

Men made ready for what would be done in their lord's absences. Without the Head of the house around to do his sworn duties, there was much that had to be done in order to keep House Stark on its feet. A replacement had to be selected, if a temporary one. Guards had to be switched out to prepare just in case. The Starks were respected all across the North.

But when the news that their Lord was now the King's Hand, there would be whispers.

There was always whispers, like the winds of Winter.

In the massive castle, there were not just servants at work. Within the colossal castle, others prepared much else in a similar craze and concern. In a far off room, away from the hustle and bustle of the castles other workings, Lady Stark and others huddled around the bed of one of her sons. Bran still sat, asleep in his bed after his dreadful fall. The boy's chest rose and fell as normal, but the concern across his mother's face had not changed in the slightest.

The woman did not know of what had happened just moments ago, nor did she have any want to know. She could always question that, woman, at a later time. At the present however, all the Lady of the House could focus on was her son.

Would he be alright? Had she been telling the truth? Was her husband sure in whatever strange trick that woman had pulled? How could it have healed such a grievous wound?

Cat bit her lip. There were no answers.

All she could do was wait, and hope alongside the boy's bed.

The Stark glanced up at the King, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. Robert's eyes bore a stern seriousness like the steel of his sword. If not for his better judgement, Ned swore the man in front of him was not the jolly King, the man who grew large in luxury and wore a large beard upon his face.

No. This was not the same King. This was the man of the battlefield, with blood soaked against his leather tunic, the steel of his belts and boots covered in rust from the rain upon the soaked fields.

Shaking his head, the man placed one hand on the King's shoulder and stepped to the side.

"Sire, please." Ned spoke, "This is not a good time."

Like much of the noise in the background, the Stark moved to brush past the larger man. There was much to do, still much to do. Bran still lay in his bed. Surely the boy had not awoken so soon. It would be good to be there, now more than ever.

As their shoulders brushed against each other, a hand gripped Ned by the arm. With a force unlike his appearance, Robert pulled the Stark back around to face him.

"No, it is not." The King grumbled, "But words matter little to the time."

"And we shall have them."

In the center of the hall, the two men stared at one another, silent but focused. The air grew thick. The soft carpets were like mud, and the King's grip felt like a snake constricting around the Stark's arm in a vice.

Robert cleared his throat, "I will not attempt to understand what happened in your son's room. My Hand or not, this is your castle, your home, and I am but a guest."

"But if I am to allow you to come into my home, I must know what has happened." he spoke, "I am thankful that your son is healed, but from the news of his wound, that would not have come so quickly, or so swiftly.

"I am not questioning that it had happened, but the how is more of my concern. Your boy fell from a height so high that I would assume the worst, and yet you claim he'll be fine?"

The King raised a hand to his head and rubbed his temple, "All this commotion is rocking my bones. A simple bit of clarity would do much at this point, even if it's just you saying you're as confused as am I."

Ned bit his tongue. Across from the king, the Stark rubbed his face. His skin was rough, cracked and prickled from the chills of the North. The leather gloves gripped the sweat drenched fingers. The man's cloak barely hid the sight of his hand, curling up against the palm of his hand.

Around the pair, noise clattered back and forth around the two lords. Servants carrying lord knows what while others barked orders. None of it made it any easier on the Stark's rattled mind. People preparing for their departure, the shifts of chores and watches upon Winterfell's walls, and the subtle muttering and whispers of everyone felt as if a soft breeze in comparison. As Ned gazed into the King's eyes, his mind was like a storm roaring one summer's night.

After what seemed like hours of fierce combat though, the Stark let out a sigh.

"Very well," he muttered, "Follow me then."

Removing hand from head, Robert blinked at such simple words, "Pardon?"

As the King looked on, Ned turned on his heel and waved his free hand to the larger man. With a slight wave, he gestured the lord to follow, "Come. We'll discuss this in a more, quiet place."

Ned glanced around the room and huffed, "All this noise is making my skull ache."

Underneath their boots, the Stark turned on his heel and made his way out of the chamber, the king not far behind. As the two departed, sound swiftly dimmed in the busy chambers. Eyes turned and followed the two men. Servants slowed in their duties. Conversations slowed between officials, their attentions drawn away from the subject at hand.

It would be the last time, for a long time, that any of them would see such men again.

The halls of Winterfell, aged with wear and tear, stood steady as the two lords marched through the stone paths. The sounds of their boots quaked in the hard built structure, echoing from one side of the halls to another. For minutes, such was the only sound made by either man. Ned led the charge through the familiar halls of his home while Robert followed behind.

The King held his mouth shut, his brow narrowed as his gaze focused upon his friend's back.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence however, Ned let out a tired sigh. To Robert's experience, it reminded him of the many meetings with the noblemen of King's Landing, or whatever pompous, loud mouth visitor his court had to suffer through.

The latter though, did not help with the mood.

"You ask me a lot, I hope you know that." Ned muttered, "In my own house, upon a day such as this. It almost seems as if you're trying to make me rethink my own decision on your offer."

The King flinched, "Not in the slightest. Only a bit of truth is desir-"

"Sometimes truth is an even harder matter, I'm sure you know that." Ned interrupted, "To be blissfully unaware is as much a gift as it is a burden to those who know. Especially when they do not understand it themselves."

At his friend's words, Robert raised a brow, "Does that not make for finding the truth all the more important? For all to understand?"

Ned shrugged, "Perhaps, perhaps not."

Both men strolled down the halls of Winterfell for some time. Minutes passed as their trek continued. It was a long walk; one Ned kept his gaze focused on the ground for nearly the entire time. The King kept his head high, though his mind was busy as a lion, trying to decipher the Stark's words.

Eventually, both men came to a stop. Near the middle of one long hall, Ned halted in front of a lone door. It was familiar, one the lord had seen more than often. To Robert though, it was unknown, a mystery. Just one of the dozens upon dozens of wooden doors scattered about the halls of the massive fortress, nothing for him to take note of.

Ned turned to the door. For a moment or so, he stared, eyes borrowing into the wooden frame.

"If you were to guess as to what had happened," he asked, "What would you're answer be? A simple, honest answer, to the outcome you question?"

Robert blinked, and for a moment, thought on that.

"I," he mused, tongue caught on in his own throat, "I'm not sure."

Sparing a glance, Ned huffed and shook his head.

"Some time ago, my sons and I were on a trek back home. Through the woods we rode, me, my lads, and a friend or two. The wind was calm, the air was smooth, and not much seemed different than ordinary."

As he spoke, Ned opened the door with a slight push. Inside was a humble room. By the King's eyes it held some a small sum of things. A boy's bed, blankets, clothes, and few personal things. It was a bedroom, or one like it.

"But as we continued our way back," he continued, "We stumbled upon an interesting sight."

Stepping inside, the Stark turned to the King, "I'm sure you've noticed the other additions we've made to our house? The small creatures adore my children, and seem to follow them where ever they go."

For a moment, the King blinked. His mind was a blank, unsure to what the words referred to. But after a moment, realization took hold. Their visit had been short, but even Robert could not miss such distinct creatures.

"Those wolves?" he asked, "I recall them. They match well with your house, though the sheer number of them surprised even me. I was wondering about them."

Ned nodded, "Aye. We came across them and their mother near a river bank. Their parent was gone, taken by a beast in the wild. But near her, we found the pups."

"It took some convincing, but my children eventually managed to convince me to take them in. One for each of them. How odd it seemed at the time, I must admit."

The King nodded, "Coincidence I would say. To find enough pups for each of your children?"

A small chuckle escaped the lord, "Oh trust me, you are not the first to suggest such a thing to me. I've heard it quite enough from my family and colleges, to be sure."

"But, it is not the only thing we found that day."

Thick, heavy footsteps strolled forward into the room. Ned, eyes hidden behind his ragged hair, walked passed the small bed and approached a nearby chair. The Stark's imposing stature proved to obscure Robert's gaze for hat was in front of him, making it near impossible to see where the man was heading.

"Near the pups, we found two other sights," Ned spoke again, "The first, being a woman. She was bloodied, unconscious. At the first sight, many of us had thought she was dead already, a victim to the wilderness."

Robert raised a brow, "I take it that, wasn't the case then?"

Ned shook his head, "Far from it. Much to our shock, she was alive if badly wounded. Her clothes were torn to shreds, her skin covered in blood and cuts. I'll admit, at first I thought she had been mauled by a bear or something as vicious."

Amidst those words, the Stark raised a finger to the King.

"And that, is when we found, it."

The King blinked, "It?"

The Stark spared the King a small nod and reached forward. The air became filled with a thick, coppery stench, and the sound of something wet, drenched in some liquid assault everyone's ear. Robert heard his friend pick something up, but saw not of what it was.

"I'm still not too sure of what it as myself." Ned replied, "At first, I thought of it nothing but an antler, like that of a deer, having broken off during a struggle."

Though the room, a slow chill crept in. As if an icy breeze fluttered in from a nearby window, the air turned cold, icy, and uncomfortable. Both men were assaulted by a thick, dreadful stench. It burned Robert's nose, like hot coals shoved against his nose hairs.

Ned turned around, eyes cold and hands outstretched.

In the Stark's hand, the King bore witness to a large, rotten bag. A burlap sack, coated in a dark, rustic, green tinge. Gnats and flies fluttered around the sack like moths to a flame. Lifted up by Ned's gloves, a thick dribble of blood brushed passed his fingers, pooling to the ground in a red, sickly puddle.

"But as we approached it," he sighed, "That changed."

Robert took a step back his eyes wide with uncertainty, "What is that?"

The Stark shot the King a look and spared the sack a glance, "This, is what remains of the thing we found. Something I've never seen before, and something I still barely believe myself."

Both men stood near the center of the room, inches from the empty bed. Ned took a deep breath and looked at the man. The King's face as caked in uncertainty, his eyes refusing to leave the bag the Stark held for all to see.

With a heavy sigh, Ned took one last glance at the sack and raised his head.

"As you might expect, that woman was Herian. After realizing that she was still alive, we brought her back here, to Winterfell, and made sure to keep her well-kept until she recovered."

For a moment, Ned spared a glance a window, "Then, to our shock, she awoke."

"Just days after we had stumbled upon her, she awoke and rose from bed. Her wounds were but scratches, barely even scares. She was tired, hungry, but more akin to someone who had taken a long walk instead of being mauled by a creature." He explained.

Robert looked on, confused, "But, how could that be? No medicine could allow someone to recover that quickly, not from the kind of wounds you spoke of."

Ned nodded, "That was my thought as well. Caution took hold of me, and with my son by my side, we approached her with our weapons. At the most we were cautious, uncertain of what we had in our clutches."

"Yet again, as we approached her, she did not strike out against us. Nor did she try and confuse us with words." He spoke. In his mind, the Stark felt the events replay in his mind. The room they were in were not as unfamiliar to him as it was to the King.

Ned turned to Rob, and looked him dead in the eye.

"Instead, after explaining to her of how she was found and where we had taken her, she revealed some interesting facts to us, about herself and how she came to be so wounded."

A frown crossed the King's bearded face, "Such as?"

Closing his eyes, the Stark brushed his fingertips underneath the bottom of his chin, "To tell the truth, it would honestly be something you'd find hard to believe, least in my opinion."

Robert crossed his arm, his eyes narrowed, "Eddard, what of it?"

His gaze raised to the King, Ned shook his head and continued, "A land, beyond our borders. A tongue foreign to me, to you, to anyone I know. Terms, descriptions, things that would seem more akin to a children's story than of truth."

"So?" Robert asked, "So some strange woman tells you of a make believe land, what of it?"

Ned flinched. He did not appreciate the tone his old friend had used, especially toward someone such as her. Never the less, the Stark swallowed his words and shook his head, "What of it, is simple. Before you claim to paint me as some empty headed fool who takes such words as truth just like that, she made quick to prove her tales to us, to give us reason to believe her."

Again, the King crossed his arms. If he would believe such a tale, then he too would need proof.

"And what kind of proof did she give you?"

Taking a deep breath, the Stark shook his head, "For a start she has skin the colour of ash and eyes red like embers. Then she…changed. In-front of us, she became something you would not believe. Even a direwolf could not compare to the creature she became."

"Ned?" Robert frowned.

Regardless of his friend, he continued, "From the petite woman you have seen, she became much more. Tall, imposing. Colossal in size, and covered in thick hair, like fur. In ways it was like she shed her own skin, revealing a monstrous creature underneath."

Thoughts and images raced through the Stark's mind. The experience had only lasted for a few brief moments, like a flash really. Ned though, could not forget. The crunching sounds, the ripping of wet flesh, the growls from her throat. As brief as it was, the sight felt scared into his very mind.

"By the end of it, she was what you could compare to a direwolf, only with the body of a man, and much, much larger teeth."

Once finished, seconds passed on by in silence. Ned said nothing, merely waiting for his King's reaction. Robert on the other hand, simply stood there, jaw wide and mouth agape. The entire room felt quiet, as if the pair wasn't even there.

Then through the silence, there was a laugh. A loud, pompous laugh.

Robert held his sides and let out a long, hefty chuckle. The larger of the two men laughed till his heart's content, right in front of his old friend. After a moment or two of chuckling though, the King raised his hand and held his stomach.

"Oh, oh. Just one moment," he wheezed, "You really got me with that one!"

"Robert."

He chuckled, "I mean, truly? She turned into a massive wolf beast?"

The head of Winterfell narrowed his eyes. The King laughed, and laughed to his heart's content. Beneath his robe, Ned saw his gut jiggle with merriment, unaware of what he spoke of.

"I bet those new wolves do less of a mess than she does." He chuckled. "Hell, it must BE hell to clean up after her. Do you have men assigned to her at all-"

"Robert." Ned stopped him, arms crossed. "Are you done?"

With another chuckle, the King turned his gaze to the Stark. With a smile, he nearly made another comment but stopped. The moment he saw the expression on Ned's face, Robert lost his smile.

"Oh, you must be kidding."

Eddard sighed, "Rob-"

Now, it was the King's turn to Stop Ned. He raised a hand, stopping the man straight up, "No. No, don't even try it. Don't even think to say that any of that was truth."

"Please, listen for a-"

A sudden, loud thud echoed through the bedroom. King's Landing's lord put his boot down, literally. He stomped down upon the stone floor, silencing Ned in an instant.

"Do you even realize how insane any of this sounds?!" he demanded, "You must be pulling my leg. A woman, changing into a beast? I know my legends Ned, but even that sounds like something a madmen wouldn't consider, despite how many brains he's missing!"

Robert threw his arms into the air, "If this is what you meant to tell me to explain what happened, then you might as well have said nothing at all! This is not but bull Eddard, bull I say!"

Ned hung his head. Before him, the King continued to rant, on and on. The Stark knew he wouldn't believe a thing without proof. No matter how much truth was in his words, it was as if the King knew nothing than what was beyond his throne room.

Of course, Ned could not blame him for such. Any earlier, and he would have been the same way. Whilst the King continued his assault of words, Ned's ears soon grew tired of it all. He raised his head, looked at the King, and let out a loud, long sigh.

Instead of speaking up, he looked down at his hands, and made a decision.

As the larger man continued to speak, Ned shifted the sack in his arms. One hand kept a tight grip on the bloody bag while another reached up and untied the top. A single, bloody rope slipped free of the matted burlap and fell to the ground in a wet, coiled pile.

Sparing the King one last look, Ned reached his fingers around one side of the wet sack of burlap and pulled it down. Whatever was inside of the sack held tight around the soggy material. Refusing to give up on its wrapping, forcing a moment or two of tugging and struggle from the Stark.

Robert continued his rant, listing off yet another reason why he couldn't begin to believe a thing he had heard over the last few minutes. All of it sounded insane, crazy. A man would be in an asylum if he truly believed such things, at the least.

Yet as his tongue began again, all words died before they could rise out of the King's throat.

The wet sack of burlap fell down around Ned's fingers, staining his gloves green.

Robert's Eyes grew wide, irises shrinking as if he had been staring into the sun. A tremble shook the King's legs, and his palms became wet. The large man took a large step back, inching himself far closer to the door than one would have been comfortable with.

"W-what is that?!" he stuttered.

Sitting in the palm of Ned's hands was a gruesome, disgusting sight. A large head, similar to a goat or a deer's skull. It had broken horns atop its bone-like head, like an Elk though snapped at the base. Despite looking like a skull, the revolting sight had flesh all around its neck, soaked in a green fluid. In how it looked, moved, and smelled, it appeared as if it was blood.

All around the man's hands, the blood dripped and drool through the burlap sack, onto Ned's hands, and onto the floor. Everything smelt revolting, like a rotten piece of meat, which only unnerved the King even further.

"This," Ned mused. "is what hurt Herian in the first place."

Raising the decapitated mess up, the Stark let out a huff, "I believe she described it as a Leshen, some sort of forest creature. Wild, vicious. It killed the Direwolf's mother and left her near death after she tried to defend it."

Robert could barely believe what he was hearing, "What?!"

Sparing the man a glance, Ned raised the 'head' once more and pushed it toward the King. Robert jumped back, his own gaze never leaving the revolting mess of flesh and bone.

"She nearly died fighting this thing, and along with my son, she killed it in the same forest you and I were hunting earlier this day." Ned explained, much to the King's shock.

"That thing was with us this morning?!"

Ned nodded, "Possibly. If it wasn't for her and my boy, we might have been the hunted instead of the Hunters. That bore you brought back might have been you, instead of it."

There were no words. The King found no words. His throat was not but a barren wasteland. Hair threatened to turn white in shock. Robert was truly at a loss, and one look from Ned told him that he knew that far too well.

"Whether you believe me or not, know this."

Pulling the sack once again over the revolting head, Ned threw the Leshen's husk back atop the chair from which he grabbed it and turned to the King, "To you, all that I've said might have been not but nonsense, but that thing? It's real."

"Real blood, real flesh. And one hell of a real stench."

With the King still frozen where he stood, Ned gently pushed passed the large man and made for the door. Robert remained where he stood, feet refusing to respond. He barely even reacted to the movement. Instead, his eyes remained where they had been for the last minute or so.

One foot in the doorway, Ned turned his head and spared the bearded King one last glance.

"I may know little of what or who she is aside from the small amount I've been told, but I know flesh, I know blood. And that is as real as anything else I've seen."

"And if there is one, there may be more."

His piece made, Ned turned on his heel and departed. The Stark closed the door behind him and made his way down the hall of Winterfell once more, as he had many times before. The King, Robert however, remained where he stood. He was silent, no words to be had.

Only the tales of his friend, and the rotting stench of flesh to pass through his mind.

 **A long time coming but Darkdemon had school. :P To Ruapehu82, we decided to tighten up the timeline a bit, its not like the twin blondes would tell anyone around about Bran, so Ned does hear about it as soon as everyone else. This is less edited than normal but I am tried and I've fried my brain working on creating a planet for my own original story.  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**We are going with a more Fire and Ice book series Ned then GoTs, in cause someone wonders why he has black hair rather then brown.**

* * *

The Kings Road

The party set off ahead with the King as Ned, Benjen, Jon and Herian all stopped at the crossroads.

"Thank you for coming Benjen." Ned clasped his brother's' shoulder.

"It was a welcome reprieve from the wall." Benjen returned the gesture, they hugged then parted. Benjen looked to Jon, "Are you coming?"

Jon looked up to Herian perched up on her horse. "No Uncle, Herian has offered me an apprenticeship and I have accepted."

Benjen's eyes popped out of his skull, Jon's stories rushed to the forefront of his mind. "You are very lucky, from your stories I think many men would kill for that opportunity."

"Rangers are very picky with apprentices, anyone who would kill for the position wouldn't be accepted." Herian said, warmth in her voice.

"A great order it must be to have such morals." Benjen bowed his head to the dark elf. "Well goodbye, write often." He gave Jon a hug, mounted his horse and set off for the Wall.

Ned, Herian and Jon kicked their horses to a trot to catch up with the King and his guard. When they made it to the beginning of the procession, Ned took up on his Kings' right, Herian to the right and slightly behind him at a companionable distance with John beside her.

When they settled into the march John offered his hand, Herian passed over the reins of her horse without a second thought. Jon chuckled and wrapped them around his saddle horn, watching Herian sit like someone had shoved a blade between her shoulder blades was rather funny.

"You can relax you know, I got you the calmest steed we have." John said, trying to ease his mentor.

"I can tell, it's just-" she grabbed the saddlehorn a little tighter as they started down a slight hill.

"You're terrified of horses?" Jon said with a smirk.

"Not terrified! Just extremely wary." Her pout was evident in her voice.

"You can keep telling yourself that, but I know the truth." John said smiling.

"Oh be quiet," Herian almost stuck her tongue out at the boy, but he could hear it in her tone.

Jon laughed, then finished for another topic. "So how did the Rangers start?"

"That is a very long story and you are not going to grasp most of it." Herian allowed herself to relax fractionally, the mare really was very calm.

"We have time." Jon said, his Father was also now keeping his ears peeled, they weren't talking loud enough for anyone past him to hear.

"Well to learn about the Rangers, you must first hear about the Blades. Where I come from we don't have a Kingdom, we have an Empire. It's maybe hmmm, ten times the size of this land by my guessing, probably more as that doesn't count what lives under the ground. The first unified Empire was formed by a Tiber Septim, the first person to ever have all nine races under his banner, I won't go into how he did it. The point is with the Septims came the Blades. The Blades were the elite bodyguards to the Emperor and those of Dragon Blood. This lasted till the Septim line died out in a rather spectacular fashion." Herian sighed. "After that there was another war and many other events that drove the Blades to near extinction as they looked for a new Dragonborn. Eventually two Blades found my Grandmother, the Nerevarine and a Dragonborn. You must understand by this point my Grandmother was a tired soul and not a very nice person. This was around the same time that Alduin the World Eater returned. My Grandmother did not want the Blades to serve as her bodyguards, the Blades could not kill Dragons without her help though. Only one with a Dragon soul and Dragon Blood, a Dragonborn, can truely kill a dragon. Not just in flesh for a Dragonborn devours the soul of a Dragon. To prevent it from ever returning. In the end these last Blades and my Grandmother came to an agreement. My Grandmother refused to back a return of the Blades, instead she and the remaining Blades created a new order. The Rangers, the Rangers are under my Grandmother's direct command, but instead of serving as bodyguards they serve as, as you know as heros' for hire. When the normal channels fail you hire a Ranger. Rangers are assigned to Provinces and they cycle through the land."

"Are you a Dragonborn then?" Jon asked. "Blood and soul?"

Herian sighed. "Aye, it has caused me no end of trouble. My father is one as well and a Ranger, my Aunt Chani rarely serves as a Ranger but is trained."

"Why does that get you into trouble?" John asked.

"We can kill Dragons, not all dragons were smart enough to fall in under Paarthurnax. So my Father and myself and when things get really tight, Chani and Keria, we all get set all over the Empire to hunt down the rogues."

"What about your Grandmother? The Nerevarine?" Jon thought she sounded very powerful.

"Grandma only gets called into action when something big turns up. Something big enough that the usual teams can't handle." Herian shuddered violently. "We lost some good Rangers the last time that happened. And it made me very glad to be a werewolf."

"What happened?" Jon asked warily.

Herian was silent for a long while, they made it all the way down the hill and almost a mile more before she spoke, just loud enough for Ned and John to hear.

"A group of Thamlor got desperate enough to turn to the Sload. The Sload are horrible, giant slugs with arms and legs, with a gift for Necormancy and plagues. The Sload created another plague for Tamriel, the last one whipped out over two thirds of Tamriels' population. We found out and attacked just in time before it was released. My whole team was slaughtered, my mother was among them. I only lived because of my wolf blood, it protected me from the disease. I managed to call my Grandmother as my friends fell, the Thamlor were to busy gloating about their deal, the plague and the plan to release it into Tamriel. Then my Grandmother showed up." Herian knew she was green under her helm and fought the need to throw up. "Well let's just say the Thamlor died a slow and painful death, and the Sload found out that the power of the Tribunal was not as gone was they had be lead to believe."

"I'm sorry." Jon said softly.

Herian waved her hand dismissively. "It was almost a seven years ago."

"How old were you?" Jon asked.

"Nineteen."

Jon didn't know what to say, so he reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

Herian smiled and allowed a purr to rumble up through her for him to hear. "Thank you."

They travelled in silence for a few minutes before Jon asked. "So what did you do after that?"

Herian shrugged. "Starting working solo, roamed and then was assigned to a new province, lingered there till I was assigned to the Summerset Isle. Then I ended up here, I had only been here for a few weeks before you found me."

"You stopped taking partners? Then why did you take me on?" Jon asked.

Herian fiddled with her left gauntlet straps. "New place, new start. And you're not a partner you're an apprentice. I am responsible for your well being, if anything happens to you it's on my head. Unlike a partner when I tell you to run, you will run, if I tell you to hide you will hide. I have greater command over you, so I can keep you safe."

Jon worked through that, after hearing a little more of her history. It made sense why she differed him from her past team mates. "But that didn't answer my question, why did you take me on? Had you not offered I would be going to the Wall now, you prevented that, you intervened. Why?"

Herian schooled herself to be still and said softly. "You take about the Wall like it was this great thing of honour. I learned your tongue by listening to the Men of the Nights Watch, it's a cold, cruel place, run by criminals given leave to do whatever they want. You deserve better than that, you are kind and caring. Going to the Wall, taking the Black would have been a mistake. I like you, you are intelligent and willing to learn, even when it's outside of your comfort place. I could not ask for a better student," Herian sighed. "And you remind me of my family, so you are pleasant to have around for that reason as well."

"Well Thanks I guess." Jon rubbed the back of his head. "So what is your family like, who do I remind you of?"  
Herian chuckled. "Large, and you remind me of Harimad. His hair is a bit straighter and he is much taller than you, but you have the same open expressions, the same bearing. Harimad is quick to smile and has your same kindness. He is a Witcher and a very great warrior. When I finished my Witcher training I travelled with him for two years, he was my mentor."

"Why did you two part ways?"

"I wanted to return to Tamriel, he too wanted new adventures. It was just time for change."

"Ah." Jon looked over to her, he could really grow to hate that helm.

* * *

The procession made its way slowly south, stopping each night, each more dull and boring then the last. Today the King called for a lunch stop and they came to a halt to allow the King and his Hand their meal.

Robert and Ned sat on either side of a mini table, covered with fine foods, fruit and wine. Herian sat a ways away, listening to her Thane with Jon meditating before her.

Robert scoffed taking a drink. "Gods, this is country! I've half a mind to leave them all behind and keep going."

"I've half a mind to go with you." Ned relaxed in his chair, playing with a grape."

The King grinned. "What do you say, just you and me on the Kingsroad, swords at our sides, a couple of tavern wenches to warm our beds tonight."

"You should have asked me twenty years ago." The Stark said with a smile.

Robert sighed. "There were wars to fight, women to marry... We never had the chance to be young."

With a grin Ned said. "I recall a few chances."

Robert took another drink and leaned back. "There was that one... Oh, what was her name? That common girl of yours? Becca? With the great big tits you could bury your face in."

After a moment's thought. "Bessie. She was one of yours."

Robert chuckled. "Bessie! Thank the gods for Bessie and her tits. Yours was... Aleena? No. You told me once. Meryl? Your bastard's mother?"

"Wylla." Ned said softly and Jon stiffened.

Herian boxed him lightly over the ears and hissed at him to focus.

"That's it." The King continued on oblivious. "She must have been a rare wench to make Lord Eddard Stark forget his honour. You never told me what she looked like."

"Nor will I." Ned said solemnly.

The King looked at his friend and said. "We were at war. None of us knew if we were gonna go back home again. You're too hard on yourself. You always have been. I swear if I weren't your King, you'd have hit me already."

"The worst thing about your coronation... I'll never get to hit you again."

"Trust me, that's not the worst thing. There was a rider in the night." Robert handed Ned a slip of paper across the table.

After reading the note."Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it? Should we send her a wedding gift?"

"A knife perhaps, a good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it."

Ned almost glared at his King. "She's little more than a child."

"Soon enough that child will spread her legs and start breeding."

"Tell me we're not speaking of this." Ned turned away slightly.

Robert quick to temper. "Oh, it's unspeakable to you? What her father did to your family. That was unspeakable. What Rhaegar Targaryen did to your sister, the woman I loved. I'll kill every Targaryen I get my hands on."

"But you can't get your hands on this one, can you?" Ned said sharply.

"This Khal Drogo, it's said he has 100,000 men in his horde."

"Even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, as long as they remain on the other side of the Narrow Sea. They have no ships, Robert." Ned said annoyed with this conversation.

"There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. If the Targaryen boy crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the scum will join him."

"He will not cross. And if by chance he does, we'll throw him back into the sea."

The King took a drink. "There's a war coming, Ned. I don't know when, I don't know who we'll be fighting, but it's coming."

Herian listened as she kept an eye on Jon, he struggled with the inner calm required to meditate properly, but then she didn't blame him for it. He probably hadn't know what his mothers' name was up until now. Why Ned didn't just tell Jon what he wanted to know was beyond her. But then being a bastard wasn't even note worthy where she hailed from. Not worth the effort to whine about, she was a bastard, almost all her uncles and aunts were bastards. It didn't do them any harm, and Grandmother was to changeable to marry all her lovers. She had one husband and refused to take another, even when that one past on.

Herian shook her head and refocused her thoughts, Ned and the King still talked but had moved to safer less interesting conversations. They stayed for another half hour then the party set off again.

* * *

Catelyn sat beside Bran, weaving a wreath as her son soundly slept. In the far corner of the room, the sun's rays disappeared over the horizon. The hours grew late, shadows creeping over the high walls. A cool breeze drifted in through an open window, the night slowly beginning.

Next to her son's bed, Catelyn felt a small yawn escaped her lips. For hours she had spent watching over her dear boy, and the watch piled up upon her shoulders. Only kept awake by her worrying, she sighed and leaned against the bed.

Glancing up, she spared Bran a small, mournful smile. The boy looked so peaceful. Under any other circumstances, one could assume he was merely asleep, dreams filled of possibilities of tomorrow with a smile. Yet as her eyes fell upon her son, Catelyn felt only sorrow.

Out of the blue, a sudden creak echoed through the bedroom.

"You're not supposed to be here." A voice spoke up. Low, gravelly, like the dirt under one's boots, "No one is supposed to be here. It's a mercy. He's dead already."

Raising her head, Catelyn stumbled over a gasp.

Across the boy's bedroom stood a man. He held a fine dagger in hand but wore rags, an attire fitting of a rat from the street. No one in the castle wore such an attire, and his sore expression screamed one of ill intent.

Eyes widened with shock, Catelyn shot to her feet. She rushed between her son and the man, nearly tripping over herself as she did so.

"Get out." she snapped.

The woman's voice as a mix of many emotions. Fear, uncertainty, and a low stern tone that would make many others quake in their boots. To this man though, he only smiled.

Uncaring to those in front of him, the brute pushed forward and raised his dagger high.

The light from a nearby candle shined off the blade, like the sun, unrelenting for what it was made to do. Struck in the moment, Catelyn moved before she could even consider what was happening.

The mother threw herself at the man, kicking and shouting, doing whatever she could think of to stop the figure in front of her. Catelyn grabbed at the assassin's arms, grasping at his wrist. Despite the man's humble appearance though, he was stronger, bigger, and far more than a simple degenerate.

With a simple shove, the assassin threw the mother back as if she was nothing. The sudden force sent Catelyn stumbling backwards, her feet tripping over each other as she feel. A loud thud followed as she hit the ground hard, head nearly bouncing off the bedpost as she landed. For seconds, all the lady could feel was a throbbing pain across her head. Her vision was a mess of blurs and colours.

Across the ground, Catelyn struggled to stand. She grabbed at the bedrest, and tried to pull herself up. A warm fluid trailed down her forehead, a small cut now across her skin.

Yet the pain did not matter. Catelyn pulled at the bed, trying to get to her feet. She had to get to her feet. Ger son was right there, with a man ready to kill him as he slept, unable to do a thing to protect himself.

Halfway to her knees, the mother felt a hand wrap itself around her throat and pull her backwards. Once more she fell back, her spine smacking against the floor once more. Pain tore through the woman's body, whilst her vision tried to adjust to the sudden movement.

The figure rose above the woman, fingers pressed into the delicate flesh of her neck. The assassin glared down at the woman. She struggled against his grip, thrashing back and forth whilst her legs kicked uselessly against the floorboards.

"Sorry," the assassin muttered, "Shouldn't have been here. No witnesses."

Before her eyes, Catelyn watched as the man placed his knife against her neck. The smooth, sharp blade cut into her flesh. Even the lightest of pressures cut deep into her throat.

In the center of her chest, Catelyn Stark felt her heart beat relentlessly. Her eyes widened and her throat grew painful, dry, useless. But in the last moments, she turned her head and glanced at the bed to her side.

Bran, her son.

The Assassin threw out his arm and flicked his wrist. The Knife in hand shot sideways, now a mix of grey and red. Blood gushed out from the wound, bubbling up from the cut flesh. Life faded from the body at his feet. Eyes crew dull, struggling faded into the night.

Nothing but a corpse now, cold and still.

The deed done, the man rose to his feet and drew his knife over his sleeve. From the blade, blood stained the ragged fabric, such as a reminder to the life now lost.

Rising to his feet, the Assassin turned to the bed at his side. The sleeping bore, wounded, already half dead. The man let out a sigh. He meant what he said. This was a mercy. If there was any hint of comfort for what he was about to do, it was that the boy would suffer no more once he was done.

Knife now raised once more, the assassin took one step toward the bed, ready to carry out his duty. It would be quick, painless, and he would be gone before anyone knew otherwise. Yet as the man drew closer, something stirred across the other side of the room. A shadow, a figure smaller than a person. Eyes shined through the shadows, focusing on the back of the ragged man.

With a loud growl, the figure pounced. Bran's direwolf, Summer leaped from his hiding place and launched itself at the assassin. The wolf was a massive creature, with brown and white fur along with a mouth full of sharp teeth.

Unaware of what was coming, the assassin had no time to react. The direwolf leaped from behind, slamming into the man's back before throwing him onto the floor. Teeth as sharp as knives themselves, Summer gnawed viciously onto the man's throat, tearing literal chunks of flesh from his throat before he could even gasp. Blood pooled onto the ground, all around the bastard's body as the life seeped out of him.

Moments passed and with the Assassin dead at his feet, Summer let out a whine. The Direwolf spared Catelyn a small glance before leaping up onto the bed, joining his master yet again.

The beast's pelt was coated in blood, a sign of his defence of his own defenceless master. Comfortable, Summer began cleaning himself, licking the blood from his pelt. Yet as the sound of licking filled the air, something happened.

Bran, for the first time in what seemed like days, opened his eyes.

* * *

When the King called for a stop in a major town, Herian kept close to Ned while keeping an eye on the rest of the Starks, Jon followed her till she pulled him aside.

"Keep an eye on Arya will you? I saw her drag off some boy towards the river. And for an exercise see if you can manage it without her seeing you. Send Ghost if you need any help."

Jon nodded. "Okay, come Ghost." The boy and his Direwolf slipped away to hunt for his sister.

Following Arya proved to be alarmingly easy for Jon, he wasn't even aware of it when his walk turned from normal to hunting, his stride lengthened, his steps grew silent.

Arya and the boy stopped by the river and Arya found two long sticks for them.

Jon knelt in the bushes and couldn't help but chuckled, watching the two attempt to beat each other up. Arya was fast to the boys strength, it was all going just fine till Sansa and Joffrey came into view out of the woods.

"Oh boy." Jon said and turned to Ghost. "Go find Herian." The wolf shot off and Jon rose from the bushes. "I've got a bad feeling about this." He approached slowly to hear Sansa shout.

"Arya!"

Arya turned to her sister her dislike evident. "What are you doing here? Go away."

"Your sister?" Joffrey asked looking between the two then to the boy. "And who are you, boy?"

"Mycah, my Lord." The boy bowed.

"He's the butcher's boy." Sansa supplied.

Arya glared at her. "He's my friend."

Joffrey gave Mycah a lopsided smile. "A butcher's boy who wants to be a Knight, eh? Pick up your sword, butcher's boy. Let's see how good you are."

"There only children my Prince." Jon cut in seemly appearing out of no-where beside the butchers' boy. Arya beamed when he appeared, Jon smiled slightly. "Let them play, that is all it is."

"I don't take orders from you bastard." Joffrey glared at Jon and drew his sword.

Jon raised his hands in a calming manner. "It was just a suggestion my Prince, you are the one trying to escalate things." Jon's hand twitched toward his sword but he restrained himself, he just need to buy time for Herian.

"They were fighting! He hit my Lady's sister." Joffrey growled pointing aggressively at Mycah.

"A bruise at worst, she started it. My mentor saw her pull Mycah away to play, she set me to keep an eye on the two. No one was in any danger." Jon flicked his hand at Mycah and said, "Go back to your father." then much more softly. "Before this gets ugly."

Mycah nodded and fled.

"Hey!" Joffrey raised his sword. "You can't order him to leave!"

"I didn't, I just gave him leave to leave." Jon faked backing down a relaxing.

"Fine then draw your sword bastard." Joffrey pointed his blade at Jon.

"JON, ARYA!" Herian came barreling through the bush far too fast to be human, Ghost hot on her heels.

She grabbed the Prince blade and yanked it out of his hand. "What do you think you are doing? Waving your sword around carelessly?!" She had just enough control to not growl at him.

Joffrey looked between her and his sword stunned for a moment, then he sneered. "We were just going to spar."

"No you weren't, Jon is under orders to observe and report, not fight. Run back to your mother little Princeling you are not needed here." Herian snarled at him.

Outraged beyond words Joffrey stormed off to find his mother and maybe his father. Sansa started after him.

"Sansa stay." Herian ordered, her voice taking on a wolven edge.

Sansa lurched to a stop, torn between the command and her Prince.

"He is just going to go whine, you are not in any danger." Herian looked down at the blade in her hand. "Ayra, Sansa, this can't happen again."

"Why is it my fault!" Ayra said.

"I didn't say it was pup, the only one at fault was Joffrey." She flipped the blade and caught it by the hilt, then rested the blade against her shoulder. "Maybe you've noticed, or I hope you have now, but the Prince isn't exactly stable."

"What do you mean stable?" Sansa asked.

"Would a stable person decided to turn a harmless stick fight into a sword fight? When they have the only weapon?" Herain asked the young woman.

Sansa chose to look at the ground. "Be on your guard around him, everyone should be. So as the little prince will run to his mom, what shall be our story?"

"You want us to have a story?" Ayra said, not completely understanding.

"You can be guaranteed the Prince will lie in his favour, twist the truth into what he wants it to be. Just because I can hear a lie, doesn't mean anyone else can. So we will need to be unified in the truth, that way it will be all our words against his." Herian shifted her weight onto one foot.

"But he is my Prince I must side with him." Sansa said mutely.

"Aye, but here you have your sister and your brother. Do you really want a Prince as… volatile as him? You are a very pretty young woman Sansa, you can do much better. And being Queen? Being a ruler is not as much fun as the stories make it out to be, you'll understand when you are older."

"What would you know about it?" Sansa snapped.

"My Grandmother is a General, she would be the Empress of my homeland if she wanted it. But she was smart enough to not. My Aunt Arianna is the Queen of a nation, Ghani another aunt is a head of the Witcher Wolf School, Keria is the head of the Companions. Like you I learned how to run a household, I know much of what being a ruler entails. And I rather like my freedom and will never want the role. A good ruler serves the people, not the other way around. Could you do that? Live to serve the people under your command?"

Sansa's silence was all the response she gave.

"When we are called before the King, we all will tell the truth and if we are lucky. Nothing will come of this. Now come, lets go back, it will be dinner soon." Herian set of the way she had come, the Starks falling into line behind her.

Sure enough they arrived just in time for a messenger to come up toward them. "The King and his Queen summon you three." The bland man said.

"Lead the way." Herian gestured for him to go.

They followed the man into a large white tent, the whole of the Lannisters, the King and Ned in attendance. Joffrey at his mother's side.

With a swagger, Herain flipped the blade off her shoulder and swung it so fast in circles that it blurred then offered the hilt to the Prince. "You ran before I could return this."

"You left out that Neds latest acquisition disarmed you." Robert said jestingly, but the little display of Herian's had him very wary. He was still trying to wrap his head around Neds story, but looking at the woman clad in black armour. Seeing her PLAY with a sword, maybe he didn't completely believe Ned yet, but he did believe that Herian was dangerous. His eyes flicked to her collection of weapons, and very well armed. Finally he asked. "What happened?"

"Jon you were there for the entirety of it. Start from the beginning." Herian side stepped to allow Jon centre stage.

Jon shifted nervously, then started from the beginning. "When we got into town Herian noticed that Arya had drawn Mycah, the butchers boy off to play. She sent me to follow then to make sure they didn't get into any trouble. I did and stayed out of sight as she requested of me. Ayra and Mycah played at sword fighting with two sticks. No one was getting hurt. Sansa and Prince Joffrey found them by the river and the Prince took offence to the play between Ayra and Mycah. The Prince tried to get Mycah to fight him sword to stick. I came out of the bushes to try and prevent the Prince from hurting Mycah, I tried to talk him down till Herian came. She came disarmed Prince Joffrey and sent him away. Then we came back to town."

"How did Herian know to come?" The King asked.

"I sent Ghost to get her." He gestured at the white Direwolf pup beside him.

The Hound of the King spoke up. "I remember seeing the wolf my King, and the woman run off with him."

"And you two, is this a faithful retelling of events?" Robert asked Sansa and Ayra.

Both girls nodded.

The King sighed. "No harm, no foul. You can all go."

Jon, Sansa and Ayra fled, and as Herian turned to follow.

"Wait you." Robert stared hard the small woman. "How did you know sometime like this was going to happen. You won't have sent Jon otherwise."

Herian shrugged. "If shit can fly, it will, I had heard Joffrey and Sansa talking and I saw Ayra head off with Mycah. I figured they would end up meeting at some point. Jon needed something to do and something to test his training on. I felt tailing his sister for the day would be a good exercise, turned out it was very wise."

"And you ordered him to send his wolf if anything came up." Robert mused.

"Direwolves are very intelligent and the Stark children have a gift for them. I had faith Ghost would find me if the need arose." Herian tapped a finger on the pummel of her left blade.

"Thank you for looking out for them, this could have been painful for everyone had someone been hurt." Robert almost shuddered at the idea.

"I am sworn to protect the Starks, while I am sure my Thane only meant it one way. Their physical and emotional well being are my concern." She stood straight and tall, like a soldier.

"I take it that oath does not extend to the Crown." Robert asked calculating, she had said Thane not Lord.

Ned could hear her smile under her helm.

"It does not, if you want me to do something you will have to ask Eddard."

Ned sucked his breath in sharply, his gaze flicking between his vassal and his King.

"And you wouldn't swear an oath to me if asked." Robert asked slowly.

"I only give my loyalty to those who have earned it, you have not." Herian confirmed.

"Not even if I rule the land you live in?"

"Live on not in, I am not your people, you are not my King. I owe you nothing." Herian just managed to keep her dislike of the man out of her voice.

Robert sat silent for a tense moment then chuckled. "Alright, I'll give you that one, and I will not force you into anything you do not wish to do. You protect my best friend, that is good enough for me. At least for this topic."

Herian would call about the Queens' expression to cheer her up on bad days.

"My King you seriously can not let her go like that." Cersei said to her King.

"Herian here clearly has a different way of thinking then we do, and a very interesting skill set. My Queen I'd rather not piss her off, what we have now works. I will not upset the balance of the current arrangement. Ask Ned if you need anything of his friend here." Robert gestured at Herian.

Herian slightly bared her teeth at the woman, silently saying. "AS IF!"

Ned was thanking his lucky stars for Herians helm, he saw the instant change of posture from relaxed to down right aggressive. He would have to ask her why she had such a dislike for the royal family sometime soon. Rather than let the conversation continue.

"By your leave your Majesty." Ned gave Robert a quick bow and strode from the tent, giving Herian a quick flick of his wrist so she would follow.

They walked silently to Neds tent, and Herian pulled the flaps closed behind her. Softly she asked. "Did I do alright my Thane?"  
Ned flopped into a chair much to small for him. "Honestly I'm amazed it went so well. Thank you for looking out for Ayra."

"It is my job my Thane." Herian pulled down her grey hood and pulled off her helm. She ran a hand through her blood red hair and gave it a shake.

"Explain that to me, you call me Thane not Lord, what is your role to me in your homeland."

"In my homeland I would be your Housecarl, I would run your estate when you are not around, protect your person, family and interests. A bit like your stewards but with a great many more duties." She sent the heavy Daedric helm on the table beside her cot and started pulling off the grey cloth she used to disguise her armour.

"That is a lot of work for one person." Ned commented watching and thinking.

"Families are much smaller in general, the world is more dangerous. And it is not abnormal to have multiple Housecarls, one for each hold." Herain slung her daggers, bow and quiver off her back.

"So you know how to run a esate?" Ned asked.

"Aye, it's part of all Rangers education. Reading, writing, how to care for a household as well as magic and weapons training." She undid her belt and pulled her scimitars off her hips. "I read, Common, Daedric, Falmor, Altmeri with a little bit of Dwemer, Alyied and Akviri, as well as a language I only sing in. Not that those mean anything to you. I can't yet read your language, but I plan on asking Jon to teach me when we get to Kings Landing."

"Why so many languages?" Ned asked gathering up the energy to pull of his leather over-coat.

"There are many ruins in my homeland, being able to read what has been left behind is a great gift. I have spent many hours studying ruins. Plus reading can on occasion help to find traps, or reveal how to best an opponent more easily. Knowledge is power, anyone who says different is a fool." She raised her arms up and stretched to the sky.

Ned couldn't help but marvel at how well made her armour must be made to be able to stretch. "What else did you education include?"

"Beyond magic? As a Witcher, I learned how to make bombs, potions and oils, as well as having to read up on just about every monster I'd have the faintest chance of meeting. In addition to swordplay, of a style a bit more like yours then I usually use and mediation techniques. Most of my education came from books." She started removing her armour, gauntlets first.

Ned started to undress as well, his tunic was sticky with sweat and he would gladly be rid of it. "Why did you stare down the king? Why don't you like him and his family?"

Herian set her second gauntlet beside the first her table strained, she tapped a finger on it. "The King may be your friend, but he is not mine. The way I have seen it. This fat lazy king has come from the south to beg his friend to be his "Hand" which as he put it involves. Running his Kingdom so he can eat, drink and whore is way to an early grave. He knows you will say yes and steals you from your home and wife. He does not have your happiness in mind." She pulled of her pauldrons and set to work removing her cuirass.

Ned stared at the dark elf, never had someone dared to speak so plainly about the King. Or so honestly, he struggled to be angry with her, but after the care she had shown taking care of his family, he could not. "And the Queen?" He asked softly.

Herian scoffed. "The Queen is a liar, her family is foul."

"How so?" Ned had a feeling he wouldn't like this.

"I can hear a lie, or to be specific, I can hear the increase in a persons' heart rate when they lie." She pulled the heavy metal off of her chest and Ned looked away, Herian swiftly pulled a tunic on. She more or less grasped her Thanes shyness, a cultural thing. When the started out on the road she had told her Thane that she wanted to sleep in his presences, while reluctant, he gave into it. Her argument that she could not at as a bodyguard if she was not with him was very convincing. The Dark elf sat on her cot, pulled her boots off and sighed. "As for her foulness I am not sure I should tell you."

Ned raised a brow, a frown across his lips, "You're not sure? That's quite unlike you. Normally you're quite to the point on matters. As for foulness," he mused, "I smell a fairly thick stench in the air but I wouldn't call Robert's kin such, regardless of how grating they can be on one's ears."

Herian bent over and put her head in her hands. "This can go so shitty." she thought then said. "And if I told you she has an unhealthy fondness for her twin?" She muttered to the floor, rather than him, but loud enough for him to hear. "I have a very good nose, I can smell it on them."

Amongst the decorated tent, Ned's tongue vanished from his throat. The Stark stared, wide eyed at the woman standing before him. Had his ears failed him, did he hear her wrong? Maybe the outside noise could play tricks on someone. This wasn't the North, far from it.

Ned cleared his throat, "And, you're certain of this?"

There had to be more, he thought. An explanation, more context, anything at all. Ned had no reason to call foul on her words, not Herian of all people. She had one hell of nose to be sure, but was it that good? Or could the stink of this land fool even her?

"Aye, I'm certain. I did some eavesdropping to gather information about the Lannisters and have been watching the Queen, her twin and her babes. Interbreeding with a family always had markers. Look at Joffrey for example, he has none of the King's physical marks, he is entirely Lannister. Normally I would chalk that up to a quirk, but then you count in how." She picked her next word carefully. "Irrational he his, that just compounds it, we have had Mad Kings in my homeland. We have documents about who breeds with who, the more a family does not introduce fresh blood with every generation. The more twisted they become. My nose never lies, I can smell just how close the Queen and her twin are and I can smell the… damn you don't have a word for it." Herian stood and paced. "Grr the word my people use is immune system. It is what determines a good blood or my word genetic mate. The more different the immune systems of the two people are the better suited they are to each other. Simply put, they smell good to each other, even humans can smell this. Joffrey smells of the Queen and her twins systems, there is no Baratheon in him. It's the same for his siblings. I don't have any proof that would hold up in one of your courts." She pulled off her greaves aggressively and set them beside the rest of her armour. Turning to him. "It's obvious, I am a bit amazed no one has noticed it up till now. Just please don't go running off with this information my Thane, there is no need to kick the hornet's nest just yet."

Silence. A thick, tense echo of nothingness flowed through the tent like a raging breeze. Atop his seat, Ned's tight posture melted into a painful slouch. The Stark bent forward, his shoulders now akin to led. One hand gripped his tired brow, fingers massaging the skin as if years had passed in less than a few moments. The life could leave a man's breast just as quickly, but to Ned? It felt as if chains had been draped over the man's shoulders.

"Well," he muttered bitterly, "Isn't that wonderful."

His gaze burned a hole in the ground beneath him as if he had stabbed Ice into dirt while set aflame. The Stark felt Herian's gaze on his scalp but could find no effort in him to care. The news? It felt like a punch to the gut.

"What dirty rags my Queen has," Ned muttered, "I often regarded her eldest child as quite the bastard in private, but to imagine that he was literally one?"

Despite himself, Ned bit back a chuckle, "My, what a mess I've stepped in."

"Personality is an indicator of many things." Herian clenched and unclenched her fists then swiftly stepped to then around behind Ned. Her hand meet his neck and she slowly started to massage the strained muscles. "I am sorry to have caused you yet more grief."

As small as it was, a small sigh escaped the Stark's lips. It wasn't much but the feeling of Herian's fingers against his rough, bristled skin helped in elevating some of the tension coursing through Ned's very veins.

"An old phrase I know, is not to shoot the messenger for the words of their lord," he mused, "If anything, I'm rather glad to have heard of such a thing from you than someone else. In all realms, I'd likely never hear the end of it if told by some other's mouth."

Regardless of his words, Ned rubbed his eyes with a fit of weariness that normally would have been unfit for one such as him, "Yet, be that as it may. What should I do with this?"

"For now, I would do nothing. Yes the Queen should answer for this offence but until we have a better idea of what is going on in Kings Landing and have proof beyond me, it would be best to keep silent. I would bet a dragons heart that if the Queen caught wind that we knew of this. It would throw your family and the King into peril. She seems the type of woman to favour poison, while I can sniff your food. There is no way, I am sniffing your Kings food and drink every time he goes to drink." Hearin said with mirth, working up into the back of his head, fingers running over its pressure points, with just the right amount of pressure.

Across his neck, Ned felt a wave of relief pour over and down his skin, Whether it was from the feeling of a set of hands massaging his tired bones or the direction she gave him, the Stark wasn't sure.

The Stark dropped his hand with a huff, "Now that, I do not doubt."

"The amount of stink eyes I've gotten from that woman is enough to tell me. I've seen men on the battlefield who would mean me less harm than her," he sighed, "Word could spread quickly around this place. The mere whisper of even an ounce of our talk could bring hell down upon you, myself, and all who bear my name."

Despite the massage, Ned dreaded the aspect of what would happen. Herian was right in her words but the Lannisters were both famous and infamous for a particular reason.

"We must be cautious, careful of ears around corners." Ned contemplated, "Be wary around the Queen and her ilk, but not to the point of rousing suspicion."

"I must admit I am not looking forward to getting to the city. Here people are loud enough that I know who is around us at any given time. I have a feeling that not even my talents for sneaking will save us from all the spies of Kings Landing. Tell me about who will be there and what they do? I plan on writing to my Grandmother for advice, but the more I know. The more I can tell her, she is wise about this sort of thing. Her spymasters, have spymasters." She worked up the crown of his head then worked up and down in small circles.

Ned, the graveness of the predicament aside, couldn't help but chuckle. It wasn't often he found himself witnessing such a comrade doubting herself, as slight as it was.

"Your Grandmother, huh?" he mused, "If that is the case, then there is much to be said on the matter. King's Landing is not simply a castle for the lordship of the land. To say it was but that would be putting Robert's throne to shame, as large as it is."

Rolling his shoulders, the Stark set his eyes up toward the center of the tent, "The Iron Throne is not something to belittle, as it is the very Capital of the Seven Kingdoms. Unlike the sparse North, the city surrounding Robert's keep is nothing but packed with more than enough people to fill Winterfell many times over. And even then, it's been some time since I've last been for a visit."

"Still, is there anything in particular you would require to know?"

"Hmm," she moved down from his head to his shoulders, switching from small circles to large ones with the palms of her hands. "When we get there I will go snooping for sewer systems, crypts, maps old and new." She tapped his shoulder with her index finger for a moment. "But I suppose it is the politics and people which I know I shall be at a disadvantage of."

The Dark elf moved a lock of his black hair out of the way to work between his shoulder blades. "Is it just the Lannisters there? Does the King of siblings I should be wary off? Who will you be working with and what are their roles?"

Ned shook his head, "Oh, if only it were that simple. But no, the Lannisters are but a part of the hydra that heads King's Landing. Under the King's rule there is a council that supervises the Kingdom. After all, with land spread across Seven regions, no one man could handle such a task alone. It could drive them mad." The Stark frowned, "And we've already had one mad king already."

"Regardless, the 'Small' Council, is made up of several members, each with a distinct position to call their own," he explained, "There is the Hand of the King, which for the moment is myself. The Grand Maester, a fellow named Pycelle. The Master of Coin, Lord Petyr Baelish. The Master of Whispers, who I've heard is a rather unsettling man by the name of Varys. And finally, there is the Master of Laws and the Master of Ships, both being Robert's brothers, Renly and Stannis Baratheon."

Ned cross his hands together, intertwining his fingers like a net, "Each are in charge of an important position within both King's Landing and the Kingdom itself. Whenever the King requires aid on a matter, they are the ones he often looks to and even may have the council themselves handle the matter if it falls underneath their jurisdiction."

"Alright, that is not so bad. At least there are no wars right now. So this Maelish person takes care of coin and probably has a network of spies. Master of Whispers, pretty self explanatory, someone to pay attention too and not believe a word coming out of his mouth. Though," she mused. "I guess that would apply to everyone there. Then a Master of Law and Ships, is it normal that that to be one person? It is a rather lot of power for one person, but then I guess new laws aren't needed often." She worked at a knotted muscle. "The Maester, what is he like? Do you think I could get him to give me access to, I don't know a library, records of the city and Lords?"

Ned frowned, "Pycelle…"

"That old man, he likely has his own section in the nearest library. He has been the personal Maester for several Kings now, even far before Robert took the throne. The Mad King and the King before him. That man has seen more than most in King's Landing, and for that he can be very wise. It was for that reason he continued to hold his position instead of ending up on a pike in the middle of the courtyard."

The Stark thought back to the Rebellion, years ago. To this day, it was a constant nightmare for the Lord of the North. Blood, bodies, the crackling of the Mad King. Much was lost on that hellish day, for both the Kingdom and Ned himself.

Yet if there was one particular sight he remembered, it was that man. An old shrivelled up man, barely any different than the descriptions spoke of. How he survived the fall of his King, Ned would never know.

"For information, there is a chance. He is old, not one for sly words or tricks. With enough push, I'm sure you'd be able to get something out of him. He is certainly old enough to at least point you in the direction of some sort of library or record keep."

Herian picked up on Neds revisiting of the past, which was to say she heard his heart rate pick up. She worked silently for a moment trying to decide whither or not to mention it. "Well that is something, it at least gives me an idea of where to start." The Dark elf sighed. "Were I at home I would be touching base with the local thieves guilds, but I don't think that will be an option here." She pulled away and turned her head to face the tent flap. "Someone comes, I don't recognize the gait." With a flick of her hand she snapped into invisibility.

Sure enough a minute later a courier entered the tent. "A raven in the night my Lord."

Ned rose and retrieved the small piece of paper. "Thank you, you may go."

The man fled and Ned unrolled the message, after a minute Herian reappeared her spell silently breaking.

She watched silently as she listened to Neds heart rate sky-rocked and his face grew paler and paler. "My Th-." she partly reached out, she shook her head and crossed the small space between them. She needed to snap him out of whatever was happening. "What's wrong Ned?"

Outside the tent, a breeze rocked encampment like an earthquake. Ned's hands shook just as violently, trembling down to the bone. His eyes grew wide, paler and dull like the dead. The piece of parchment crumpled, tore as he stared, unable to turn away. To an onlooker, the Lord of the North appeared as if a trance had taken hold, from his skin down to his very heart.

Yet as Herian's hands gripped the Stark's shoulders, a low mutter slipped through the cracks.

"No…" he whispered, "This can't…"

Trembling, Ned raised his gaze to Herian, "This, is this genuine?"

"You know the hands of your hold better than I. Who wrote it?" she said softly.

Against those words, a stutter tore through the man's throat. A shiver down his spine. In his hands, the parchment slipped, fluttering down to the ground below. The imprints of his fingers remained, leaving holes in the piece of paper.

"It's from…" Ned muttered, "...Winterfell. There is no name. I'm not sure who wrote it, but it was sent from days prior. Something happened. An attack, sometime after we departed..."

Herian bent and snatched the paper from the floor and held it to her nose. "I can't tell who it was, it's too old." She looked at the squiggles on the page, she really needed to get on with learning to read. The dark elf slide her hand around to the small of his back and gently pushed him towards his bed. "Sit, I will get you something to drink."

Ned took the few steps then sat slumped on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.

Herian moved to their dining table, the servants had left two pitchers, she mulled the wine till it was almost completely water before returning to Ned. "Ned?" she called softly setting the cup down and kneeling before him, she wanted to reach out, but he was not her family, that would be taking a few too many liberties.

"My Thane, I can not help if you do not tell me what is wrong." She kept her tone soothing and calm.

"Cat, she." Tears picked at the corners of his eyes.

Herian read between the lines. "Gone."

The Stark nodded and his frame shook in a silently cry, he refused to look up at her.

Herian was at a loss of what to do, she had been toeing this fine line between friend and vassal. As a friend she wanted to give him a hug, as his vassal she wasn't sure it would be appropriate. "To oblivion with it," she thought. "If it bugs him I can explain my thinking later." Slowly the dark elf stood, pulled his hands away from his face and took the small step into his embrace.

Neds head came up to just below her breast and she petted his head as he sobbed. Without thinking his arms came up around her and held her in place. Over time her shirt grew wet and the man fell into exhaustion.

"Go to sleep Ned." The Dark elfs' tone remained soft.

Slowly Ned pulled away and removed the rest of his garments before lying down and turning away from her.

Herian glanced around, she really loathed to get dressed again. Swiftly she put her boots back on, then arranged her grey cloths around her, she managed to cover most all of her. Then she pulled on her gauntlets a large cloak, Neds but he wouldn't miss it for this one night then retrieved the letter from beside the food.

After pulling up her hood she made swift and silent progress through the camp, a grey wraith in the night. As she came up to the King and Queens tent she winced, they were talking.

She pulled up some of her grey cloth from her throat up to hide the lower half of her face, then pulled the hood as down as it would go. She nodded to the guard and pushed her way inside the tent.

"Your Majesty." She called out. Ignoring the Queens',"What are you doing here?"

Robert took in her relative state of undress and Neds cloak, her posture was tight and he couldn't help but note how much smaller she looked without her armour. "What's wrong?" He asked.

Herian swiftly crossed through the lavish tent and held out the note.

Robert grabbed it and looked a moment to read. He sat without ceremony on the side of his large bed. "Well fuck." He looked at the tense woman before him and could just make out the red of her eyes.

Herian spoke curtly. "By your leave, I would like to arrange for my Thane and his children to return to Winterfell. I have not yet asked Ned, but I would prefer to continue south with you and the rest of Neds house to prepare Kings Landing for him as best I can."

"Where is Ned?" Robert asked.

"Sleeping, I told him too and he was in no state to argue with me."

Robert nodded he could imagine it. "Can you really do that? Fill the shoes of the Hand of the King?"

"Temporarily, I do not know enough of your lands politics to be effective. But I can, I believe the phrase is 'clean house' and try to make my Thanes transition a bit easier, for when he does come south. And I have all the resources I need to do that." Herian said significantly more confident than she felt.

"Alright, Ned clearly has faith in you. So shall I."

Herian retreived the letter, gave him a quick bow then left the tent, ignoring the Queen internally. She swiftly returned to Neds tent, he was thankfully still sleeping. Herain pulled off all over her garb save her tunic and silently laid down in her bed. The Dark elf started the at ceiling for several minutes before cursing and getting up. She moved a rug to the foot of Neds bed, and sat down, her legs folded under her, hands in her lap.

Closing her eyes she threw herself into meditation, slipping into that place between true sleep and awareness.

 **Darkdemon and I have been on a roll. Before anyone takes our heads off, this is Game of Thrones, people will die. From here on there will be less and less of the books and show in this work, yes there will be slow times. But GoT has never been about action.**


	7. Chapter 7

Parting Ways

Herian rose silently and smoothly with the dawn, dressed equally quietly and slipped from the tent. People were starting to stir as she found the tent for the Stark children. Jon, Sansa and Ayra still slept. She prodded Jon into wakefulness.

"Herian?" Jon asked his brain sleep muddled.

"Wake up, I want to talk to you." She made her way out of the tent as Jon set about getting dressed.

After a minute he met her outside, the crisp light of morning making him squint.

Softly so no one would over hear. "Lady Stark was murdered, we only got the raven last night." Herian stood close to Jon, partly hiding from the waking peoples.

Halfway through a yawn, Jon's mouth snapped shut with a painful crack. His teeth felt raw and chipped, his tongue having barely avoided being chopped off at the tip. The boy's drowsy mind awoke like a suckerpunch to his jaw. The news felt like a shot to the arm, a crossbow bolt piercing the flesh of his hide like a hot metal poker.

Standing just outside his tent, the youth nearly felt his legs work on their own. On reaction alone, Jon had to resist turning around to face the Witcher with a face full of shock.

"Dead!?" he gasped, his tone exploding out from a mere whisper, "Murd-"

A hand swiftly found itself covering the boy's mouth, reducing his shout to a muffled cry. Herian quickly silenced the youth, her eyes trained on the surrounding area. The two stood in silence for what seemed like minutes. Jon's eyes were wide with shock while the Witcher narrowed her own, ready to move within a moment's notice.

"No one but Ned, The King and maybe his Queen and myself know. I'd like to keep it like that for as long as possible. Just be ready for it, you, your sisters and your Father will be going back north. Probably just for the funeral." Herian drew her hand away and sighed. "I didn't think of it at the time, but go to the tower Bran fell from, see if you can find anything out of the ordinary. Different layers of dust, foot or hand prints, hair, scuffs, anything. I have been thinking on it and I find it highly unlikely that Lady Stark was the target. There must be something else going on." Herian wanted to rub her eyes, she would dance the day she would be able to walk around without her helm. "Don't let Ned bring anymore of his children down, if he wants to bring Ayra and Sansa, fine. But the rest are safer up there."

"You don't think that the assassin will try again? If Lady Stark wasn't the target." Jon asked.

"Here read this for me." Herian pulled the worn note from her pocket.

Jon read allowed. "My Lord, Catayln has been murdered, the assassin is also dead. Bran has awoke but remembers nothing pior to his fall. Please return at once to Winterfell, your Ladys body is being prepared for the funeral." Jon turned the piece over. "There is no signature that is odd, but it looks like the Maegeters hand, maybe he was just in a hurry, forgot." Jon looked up at her. "If Bran was the target and he doesn't remember."

"Then he is not a threat to whoever sent the assassin." Herian finished.

"I see." Jon said.

"In the mean-time, get your sisters packed. I will be going south to start making some sense out of Kings Landing. I don't think anyone will bother you on the way back up." She turned and glanced around. "If possible encourage your father to leave Ayra and Sansa up there, I understand if he won't, but the fact of the matter is that all you Starks are much safer up there." She cocked her head to the side. "Arya has woken, break the news to her quietly if you can, I have to see to your father."

Jon dreaded attempting that, but nodded. "Okay, see you later."

Herian nodded and swept away, her cloak billowing around her. Jon found it odd, the elf usually did all in her power to remain unnoticed. Now with her billow and gait she oozed power.

Jon slipped back into his tent and prepared himself.

Herian entered to the tent to see Ned sitting up legs over the side of his bed, head in his hands. She bit her lip, now or never. "I've spoken to the King, you and your children will return north for the funeral. I will head south and attempt to prepare Kings Landing for you."

Eddard looked up at her and blinked slowly, Herian sighed and strode over taking his hands in her and pulling him to her feet. He towered over her. "You need to get ready to go, I've already spoken to Jon, he is aware and getting his sisters ready." She let him go and fetched a new tunic and pants from a sack, walking back she offered them to him. "Get dressed."

Even as dull eyed as Ned was he managed to follow that ordered, slowly growing more aware. When he was ready for the day she called in the vassals outside, a half dozen people zipped in and started packing. Herian shouldered her satchel and barked. "Everything but the Lords clothing goes south, pack the rest for a trip north."

The Witcher pulled Ned carefully from the tent and they started back towards the children's tent. Half way there, Ned finally found his voice.

"You've been busy." He said mutely.

Herian shrugged. "Seemed like the right thing to do."

When they can into sight of the tent, Sansa and Ayra were standing beside Jon, eyes red, their clothes in bags by there feet. Seeing their father the girls ran the last little ways and collided with him.

Ned stood tall and ridge for a moment before wrapping his arms around his girls as they wept anew.

Herian scanned the area and was surprised to see the King approaching them, four strong looking horse being led behind him, all ready for travel.

"Ned." The King took and held Neds shoulder for a moment, as the Lords arms will still full of young girl. "Four of my finest horses. They'll get you back swiftly."

Ned partially bowed his head. "Thank you."

The men from Neds tent gathered up the young Starks clothing and put it on the fourth horse with their fathers.

Robert shook his head. "It's the least I could do, I will leave you to your breakfast." The King turned away returning the way he had come.

The Starks ate their breakfast quietly and set off back north, Herian nodded to each in passing.

* * *

The camp was very swiftly dismantled after that and the company was soon on the road again. Herian begrudgingly riding at the King's right hand, her horse was the same gentle mare content to follow. So she pulled out a book, pencil and a long empty scroll.

 _Hello Grandmother_

 _I know I don't generally bother you much but I have found myself in a situation that is more your thing then mine. While chasing down that rogue sect you had me after, I found myself transported to another world. I have as of yet been unable to determine if the transport was related to the sect or just uncle Sheo fucking with me. I am inclined to believe the later. Any way not the point of this letter, I did something rather stupid and have found myself as a vassal to a Lord. Not that I have any real problem with that, he saved my life and it was the first thing that came to mind. This Lord's wife has just been murdered, we were on our way something to this city called. "Kings Landing" odd name but I am sure I will find out why it is called that at somepoint._

 _I_ _wish to ask for your help with figured out how to work in this city. I am filling the role of "Hand of the King" till my Thane returns from his wife's funeral. At this time I do not know just w_ _h_ _at I will be doing, but I do know there is backstabbing to avoid and spies to find. The council of the King has members each to there own typical role, lore keeper, spy master, coin master, law and ship master. It is my understanding that this group plus the_ _H_ _and of the King makes decisions regarding the whole realm. Any ideas you have on how to keep all these ducks in a line, I will endlessly appreciate._

 _Another problem I have been facing for some time is that they have very different magic from your own. Our really any lands magics I have encountered so far, it made me sick for a week trying to adjust to it. They have no elves in this land and would handle my appearance very poorly. Needless to say running around in full kit will soon stop being a viable option. The farther south we go the hotter it gets, and as you know. Daedric is NOT made for warm weather, I am roasting. Even for a dark elf. I left some of my saving with Chani, if you could commission some lighter wear for me I would be very grateful. The sigil of the house I have entered is a direwolf._

She drew a quick sketch of the sigil of House Stark.

 _Light grey, is their colour, I need these clothes to completely cover my skin, I have been thinking that a mask or two might work as well. Maybe one of the Face of the Tribunal and another styled after a wolf? I am sure you can appreciate the irony of that._

 _Lastly I have taken an apprentice. Don't go dying of shock on me now. If you still have it, the Ice Blade of the Monarch would be a very fitting blade for him if you are willing part with it._

 _On that note if you could also collect my Witcher gear, (don't forget my tox resist trinkets) from Ghani? And ask her if she had any witcher texts she would be willing to part with? If not, I would like copies of just about ALL of them, I have the coin from a few contracts squirrelled under a stone under my bed at Kaer Morhen. This world has places of power, my guess is that the conjunction of spheres has happened here at one point, while it still made me ill. As I grow more used to it, the realm's magic is of a similar flavor. Though it seems to be connected to the seasons, I have a feeling it will get stronger as winter comes. And a few weeks ago I found and killed a Leshen, I've done some tinkering and its parts have the same effects they do at Ghani's home. Lots of interesting bits and pieces here, I will continue to try and find the rest and report._

 _Love you_

 _Herian Indoril, Witcher and Ranger_

Herian rolled up the scroll, put the book and pencil back within her satchel, then pulled out a small ornate box. She popped open the Moon and Star lock and put the scroll in, the inside of the box was much bigger than the outside. She took the Moon and Star amulet around her neck and gently squeezed it with two fingers. The lock of the box softly glowed and faded, Herian grinned and put it back in her satchel.

"A letter to home?"

Amidst closing her satchel, a man's voice cropped up from Herian's side. Swiftly, the Witcher felt the urge to roll her eyes come about. Though with a bit of effort, she managed to resist such a notion and instead focused her gaze back on the road in front of her.

The King chuckled, "That was quite a good sum of scribbling. Anymore and I might have gotten the wrong notion and thought you a scribe."

"Home has been an hundred places, and none at all, unless you count places to hide things. Then I only have two of those. As for writing, it's a useful skill to have. Be it music, or in this case. A letter to one of those resources I mentioned before, plus I asked her to send me clothes. It's getting much to warm for this armour." The Dark elf rolled her shoulders, it was very hot.

Robert let loose a deep chuckle. He even bounced atop his mount, much to the poor creature's misfortune, "Ah, fair I suppose."

"By Eddard's words, you've spent quite a long time up in the North." he mused, "The weather might be a bit warmer than you're used to once we reach the lands ahead. Such heavy armour might not be necessary."

Despite such words, the King glanced down at himself another snicker, "Though, I am one to talk. One in such a position as I is almost always required to wear such, complicated garb. Can be quite the bother from time to time."

Herian shrugged. "I have lived most my life in amour of one sort or another. Just this armour is made for much heavier hitters then I have seen so far here. Lighter garb will go a long way, for both the heat and how fast I am able to move. I do prefer the North, I am much more at home in a forest then cities. Though that Wall you have up there, that is too cold even for me."

"The Wall?" Robert asked, "Ah, understandable. I've yet to meet one person who can truly stand to be around that colossal wall of ice. Sometimes I often wonder how the men who patrol it can even feel the skin beneath their gloves."

Regardless, the King shrugged, "Be that as it may though, the Night's Watch hold an important duty at the wall, so it is understandable how they can withstand such chills."

"As for forests, I'm sorry for that. It has been many a year since King's Landing has had forests to hunt in, or to spend time away from the chatter of the crowds. The trees, the wide spreading greenery of North is one of the reasons I have enjoyed my visit. As brief as it has been."

"I landed here beyond your wall," The dark elf chuckled. "I doubt the trees have recovered from it. I learned your language listening to the Night's Watchmen. There was much bitching about the cold. Though if it is such an important duty, why are the majority of the men criminals of one flavour or another? You just hand these men a pardon, provided they freeze there bits off. The guard around here is so obvious that any of those men could leave the wall if they had the balls too and you would be none the wiser." Herian growled. "And before you think I am a wildling." She partly undid a gauntlet and allowed him to see a small patch of grey ashen skin, then redid it. "I am not."

For the briefest of seconds, the King's gaze settled upon the dull, grey skin that was his travelling companion. Such a moment lasted but a second, yet Robert saw it all the same.

Raising a hand, the King awkwardly coughed into his enclosed fist and shook his head, "I would not assume such of you. An opinion is as entitled to one as their own name."

"As for the Night's Watch?" he mused, "That, is not for me to decide. The Night's Watch is an order that has long existed before I was on my throne, or the throne itself exited at all. They exist in their own right, standing guard for all time against whatever might be lurking behind the icy fortress that is the Wall."

The King shrugged, "Of course, the tales of what they protect us from are but legends, stories. The worst the Watch has recently contended with are the wildlings, as you said. As for why criminals are allowed to join them? Perhaps they are but the only ones crazy enough or desperate enough to join them underneath that oath of theirs. Forfeiting their titles, their wealth, their land, and their very names? I can barely know any sane man who does not have a price on their heads who would do that on goodness of their soul. Indeed, I could send a legion of men to the wall to bolster their forces, but then they would not be my men anymore. All they would be is the Watch, nothing else."

Amidst his speech, the King chuckled, again, "And for the threat of them turning tail and running from their duty? Well, no one looks favourably on that. Be it the Watch themselves or the other lords of the North, a deserter of the Watch is a traitor and there is but one punishment for that."

The King spared a glance at Herian and ran his finger underneath his throat, "Your head. No argument or explanation needed. You can ask Ned that yourself, if you find the need to."

"I was there when he lopped the head of the last one." Herian purred. "That was one lovely sword. Though," she paused for a moment. "What is a White Walker? The man was saying that he had seen one. I hadn't while I was on the far side of the wall, but that said I found the wall and got under within a few days. But the poor fool was not lying, I didn't feel it was my place to interrupt Ned, but it has got me thinking. I found a Leshen and a Direwolf on this side of the wall, now there are whatever a White Walker is on the other side." She glanced over at Robert. "I took Jon to a Place of Power to wake his mind and body to magic, and it worked rather alarmingly well. Three major creatures in space of a two months. Something is brewing, things like this don't happen without reasons." Her tone was low and rumbling, she fought away the memories of Witcher contracts, many were like this. Many little things that would end up in a crescendo of 'oh fuck' and most people weren't smart enough to contact a Witcher before it got to that point.

Herian had a feeling that her prodding wouldn't get more attention focused on the Wall, but maybe she could learn something here. Then try to approach it again from a different angle.

Robert raised a brow. Many of the words this woman used made little sense to him, though the mention of the Leshen caused the King's ears to bleed. The memory of the revolting head that Ned had showed him burned to life like a re-igniting flame. It burned, flared in his mind, as if someone had shoved a sharp burning poker into his ear.

Unwilling to remember the sight again, Robert rubbed his forehead and tried to stay on topic. He remembered the elf's first question and focused on that, "Ah, the White Walkers? That is a tale in themselves. They're amongst those creatures I mentioned, the fabled tales of the things that lay beyond the Wall, what the Night's Watch protects us from. To most, such as myself as I admit, they are but legends. Tales to tell the youth to scare them back into their beds. To make them fear the long night, so they don't stay up too late at night and miss the dawn of the next day."

Whilst rubbing the gap between his eyes, Robert shrugged, "The best I know of them is of the tales my father told me. Cold, fridged creatures. Skin colder than ice, rougher than bark on the toughest of oak trees. Eyes so blue that they would make even the sky jealous with envy. Whatever else is known of them is either lost to the ages, or just folk stories told around camp fires to get a stir from those sitting amongst it."

"They sound likes crosses between Daugr and Hounds of the Wild hunt. It's probably a very good thing I asked for all my gear. I'll have to get Jon a different sword as well." Herian mused.

The King spared the elf a glance, "They are horrific creatures. There is a reason why most mothers and fathers often use them to scare their children. The Long Night is a fit of history we all would fear to see come around again."

"But, it is unlikely. The Walkers are but a legend and the Wall is all but impossible to overtake. If it was, the Wildlings would have overtaken us long ago. I would not worry as much about it as you might find yourself doing."

"Never say something is impossible. It will come back and bite you. As for the legend aspect of it, from the research I have managed, I believe your world goes through cycles. And I think you have one coming up, I think this winter will be very interesting. And if they are like Daugr or Hounds of the Wild hunt, then I shall take delight in setting them on fire. The undead are pretty universal from my Grandmother's stories, and fire always works." Herian crossed her arms, just one more thing she would have to dig through tomes looking for.

"Does it now?" Robert mused, one brow raised, "That is, interesting."

The more Herian spoke, the more and more the King found himself confused. He still had many questions when it concerned what Ned had told him. The proof was in his face, but even then there were explanations for that. Yet these words, these phrases. Hell, the sheer familiarity in her voice made things more complicated. Robert nearly found himself overwhelmed, if barely by the sheer possibilities of it all.

He wanted truth, that was certain. Yet this? This was beyond even that.

Closing his eyes, the King took a deep breath the settle himself. Herian's eyes followed the man's motions. How his chest rose and fell in rhythm, the confusion in his shallow breaths. She was good at reading things such as this, and none surprised her in the slightest.

"Well," Robert muttered, loosening his collar as he did, "That is, good to know."

Herian drew Fang from her right side and pressed her thumb to the pommel, the blade light up with a soft fire dancing along its length, she held it between them so the casual passer buyer wouldn't be able to see it. "Believe me now?" She was being much more direct with Robert unlike Ned, he needed to have the information shoved down his throat and forced to swallow before he would believe.

Flames flickered in front of the King's eyes. The embers were warm and soft, like a soothing wave of water. Before him though, words failed Robert. His eyes grew wide, jaw slanted, and throat as empty as a canteen after a hot day. The reins of his mount slipped through his fingers, the King's shock came close to causing the horse to roam free.

Thankfully at what seemed to be the last moment, Robert snapped to his senses and caught the reins. He steered the mount back on course, much to his own embarrassment.

With sweat dripping down his brow, the King shook his head. He offered the lady a small smile, though shallow and fooled very few.

"Ah, that's quite something." he muttered. His eyes strained as they focused on the flames, the fire dancing upon the sword like a dancer on stage.

Herian smiled and touched the cross-guard again, the flames faded way. "The other one is enchanted with frost, and my bow has yet more fire. I leave the enchantments dormant for the most part, it wouldn't do for me to forget to turn them off one day. I don't want to think about how you humans would take a flaming sword." She sheathed the Daedric scimitar. "Though I imagine when I get my things I will switch over to my Witcher sword, it is much more like yours and less. Uh, obviously otherworldly."

One of the King's eyes twitched, ever so slightly.

"I would assume so. I have seen quite a few forges in my years but never one that could forge a blade such as that." he mused, "Not even Valyrian steel could produce such effects, or at least as I've seen. Ned would be much more knowledgeable on that subject."

If Robert were truthful, on any other day he would have assumed such a blade would have been a mere trick, brought upon by someone of a carnival or an establishment like it. A mere trick, a sleight of the eye. Herian could have easily of slipped some explosive powder along the edge of her blade. Really, such a marvel could have been explained so easily and the King would have shrugged it off just like that.

Of course, that would have been the case on any other day.

Herian shook her head. "You know, I can hear your heart rate. I get having to wrap your head around magic, would you like some other type of demonstration? I was a bit mean to Eddard as I just transformed before him, no tricks in that. Though I would be very unwise to do so now. Or is there something else you are having trouble with?"

Robert blinked to himself and shook his head, "No, no. Not at all."

"Though you'd be right to say that I'm having a bit of trouble coming to terms with all of this," he mused, much to his regret. The King lowered his head, "In truth, Ned had showed me the head of that creature you mentioned earlier. The Leshen if I recall correctly? At the moment, I felt overwhelmed at such a sight. My tongue was tied, rather tightly to boot."

Again, the King spared the Dark elf a glance, "Though, if I were to be honest?"

"Whatever 'demonstration' you might be considering, may in well be too much for this old heart." he admitted quite truthfully, "I am barely holding it together as it is."

Herian laughed. "If you put the wine down you might find that your heart lasts you a bit longer." She shook her head. "No matter where you are, humans are always the same. So afraid, how does your kind do it? As I said before, I think your world is cycling, soon you will have a lot more to worry about then Leshens and Direwolves. Sticking your head into the sand is not going to make them go away. That is even running under the assumption that there isn't enough magic in the land for physical manifestations to occur. If that does end up the case, I am going to have to train Jon MUCH faster." The Witcher chuckled. "The day I meet a human who says "COOL MAGIC" I will strip naked and dance in a rainstorm."

"Huhh." Herian sighed and shook her head. "Sorry, but as I am sure you can guess this happens to me a rather lot."

Robert blinked, "Aye, that is becoming somewhat apparent."

Oddly, the King was somewhat beginning to understand why Ned had refused to explain almost anything about such a woman. Her secrets, her history, the tools and weapons she held. Even who and what she was, all of it had began to make sense to the Lord. Even more so as their conversation continued on. Yet out of all of those reasoning's, Robert had a good feeling that there was an even better reason regarding his old friend's refusal.

Perhaps Ned was just as clueless as he was in regards to what made Herian click. Robert shook his head and tried to repress the urge to groan. Maybe she was right about going easy on all that wine. The damn drink just had to tempt him so, didn't it?

"Would you like to hear a story? One of magic, men and war? Fair warning, it doesn't have a happy ending. But a main character reminds me much of you, maybe you'll learn something." Herian purred, oh she had the perfect story in mind. One of Geralts adventures he had on his way to find Ciri.

Robert did his best not to send a stare her way, "In my time, it is come common ground that such things as a happy ending do not exist. Or at the least, are much more rare than any of the treasure that exists in the world."

Memories of what he and Ned had lost. The people that had fallen in their path to glory. A rebellion drenched in blood. The heads of their comrades and foes. The loss of love and family, all on the way to where they now stood. They were lords of their own lands and had many things to justify what they had done in the past. Yet as the days grew shorter and the nights longer, the aspect of a happy end for either of them seemed ever more bleak.

Shaking his head of such thoughts, Robert rolled his eyes and gave his shoulders a shrug.

"But why not? Perhaps such a tale could help along with this dreadfully long trip?" he mused with a slight smile.

"This tale takes place in a land called Velen, a bit of nice farmland more or less surrounded by a stinking swamp. My unofficial uncle by the name of Geralt of Riva, had come to this place searching for his adopted daughter Ciri, a child of the Elder Blood. He had meet with a beautiful sorceresses by the name of Yennefer, she pointed him to Velen, while she went to a coastal collection of island that make up Skellige. Eventually Geralt makes his way up to the keep of a man they called The Bloody Baron. A large, portly man and recently retired from war. This Baron did have information on what had happened to Ciri, but refused to give it to Geralt. In exchange for his information he wanted Geralt to find his wife Anna and daughter Tamara. Who had recently disappeared. Geralt agrees to this bargain and starts his search in the rooms of the barons daughter and wife. Geralt is a Witcher, but unlike myself he underwent mutations that gave him great physical enhancements, from his bones to his senses. He finds evidence of wine and blood, a brawl in the rooms. In the daughters room he find a little doll talisman, rather odd that it was left. Our witcher asked the Baron about this talisman and the baron points him to a local pellar. This pellar has the power to see the past, given the right tools. Like say a doll dear to the girl. Unfortunately this pellar doesn't see what happened to the wife and daughter, but the spirit says to him instead."

" _They are gone, but the child remains."_

"To which Geralt asks who's child. As it turns out the child was the miscarried daughter of the Barons wife. He asks the pellar if the Baron had anything to do with his wifes miscarriage. The pellar reveals that the Baron has a foul temper and a fondness for hooch. But this pellar was near blind, but this faithful companion a goat. Licked Anna's hand when she visited, so he had faith that the Baron did turn his hand to his wife. When blind and furious with the drink. The pellar then goes on the say the miscarried child was buried without name or ceremony, away from its family. But now it has arisen and roams seeking vengeance. Geralt recognizes this description as that of a Botchling. A botchling happens when a miscarried child is buried improperly, they hide around pregnant woman draining there strength till they are to weak to fight back. Then it comes and drinks her blood, eventually killing both the woman and her babe. They look like large babes, but with dark pink skin an umbilical cord wrapped around there neck with several rows of pointed teeth and a long purple tongue."

"The pellar tells Geralt that the botchling will help, that its state is a curse and if Geralt lifts its curse it will then help. Guide Geralt to the rest of its family. To lift the curse the Baron must bury the botchling the barons threshold and give the babe the elven naming ceremony of Aymm Rhoin."

"Upon returning to Crows perch Geralt finds that the stables have been set ablaze. After rescuing the stable man the Baron comes out obviously very drunk." Herian grinned. "Now this bit I do remember the details off. It was dark and raining when Geralt confronted the Baron."

 _The baron walked over to Geralt arms wide and laughing. "Ha ha ha ha, we've a hero in our midst." Raising an arm joyously. "You've earned yourself a barrel of Lyrian!"_

 _Geralt glared at the man. "I know your wife miscarried. Was that before or after you beat her to a pulp?"_

" _What the fuck are you suggesting?" The Baron's mood changed instantly gone was the joyous man instead a dark tone was brought to him._

 _Geralt waved an arm dismissively. "Don't play me for a fool. You'd been beating them for years. Finally, they'd had enough and fled. Sound about right?"_

 _The baron snarled and attacked, Geralt swiftly and easy knocked the baron flat. He grabbed the large man and dragged him over to a trough and shoved his head into the freezing water twice before letting go and backing off._

 _Glaring down at the coughing man Geralt growled. "We need to talk."_

 _Geralt and the Baron move back into his house and the baron stands by the fire, trying to clear the last of the drink from his mind._

" _Sit down." The witcher says from his place, leaning against a desk. "You beat them."_

 _The baron slowly sits in an orate wooden chair. "I never laid a finger on Tamara, not once."_

" _And on Anna?"_

" _That's another story, she always knew how to spark my ire."_

" _You knew they had run away from the start."_

" _Yes I knew." The baron growled._

 _Geralt got up and walked over to the fire. "Why didn't you tell me? Wasted my time."_

" _Say I had? Say I'd said I had troubles, couldn't control my wife, my daughter? What kind of flaccid prick would you take me for?"_

" _Tell me everything you remember about the day they fled. The truth this time." Geralt sat beside the baron on the same style of chair._

" _I'd been soakin' myself three days straight. Anna came to me, said they were leaving. I begged them to stay. She refused to hear it. I tried to stop her. She wriggled like an eel, we struggled… she fell. Last blasted thing I remember. Woke up in the morn, breeches havy with me own piss, a large bump on my head. Sadly, they were gone. Know what that's like witcher? No, how the fuck could you? I was left with nothing! Nothing! Only the bottle..."_

" _What happened next?" Geralt was unmoved by this display._

" _Next… it only got worse. I awoke at sunset, not knowin' how many days had passed." The baron stared down at his big hands. "Thought it was all a ploughin' drunken nightmare. An' then I went to the bedchamber, but Anna was not there. Instead… there was blood everywhere. I knew. She'd miscarried. My breath short, my throat locked, I neared the bed… and saw it. It lay there. A tiny thing,_ _defenceless_ _… on bloodied sheets… dead. And it was my doing."_

" _Maybe your doing, maybe not - but the amulet she wore could be important. Or maybe the fact that she lost it."_

 _The baron looked away._

" _What did you do with the child?" Geralt growled._

" _What was I to do? Took it out and buried it."_

" _Just like that?" Geralt said softly._

" _Damn you! I gave no thought to a funeral. It was a horror. I wanted it to end. That child had been my dream, I told Anna. "A little one, our little one, to make things right" yet she died before she could be born. Understand, witcher? My child was dead." The pain was clear in the large mans voice._

" _Get a hold of yourself. Men like you, when they break down, look downright pathetic." Geralt was not impressed._

" _You're a heartless bastard." The baron did not look to the witcher._

" _Huh, mutations worked, then." Geralt said calmly. "But here's the good news - your dead child might help us find the one who's still alive… and your wife."_

" _What? How?" The baron finally looked over._

" _Sometimes miscarried fetuses, if they don't get a proper burial, turn into botchlings."_

" _Into, fucking, what…?"_

" _A cursed creature that draws strength from killing pregnant women. Once it's strong enough, it attacks those who scorned it." Geralt watched as the baron got up and walked to the fire._

" _But now… how does it know?"_

" _Blood ties. They're a strong bond, a bond I want to use to find your family."_

" _How?"_

" _One of two ways. Legends claim that you can bury a botchling under the family's threshold, perform a ritual and turn it into a lubberkin. That's a sort of, uhh… hob, a guardian spirit that could lead me to your family."_

" _And the other way?" The baron turned to the sitting witcher._

" _We kill it and draw some blood. Take that to the pellar and he does the rest." Geralt got up._

" _Do not kill my child. It's suffered enough already. Lift the curse, that it may finally rest in peace."_

 _Geralt shrugged. "Whatever we do, we gotta find the botching first."_

" _I'll show you where I buried her. And I'll dig the grave at my threshold."_

" _If it turns out we can't transform the botchling into a lubberkin, they can bury us in it. Handy either way. The sooner we resolve this, the better. Best do it tonight, at midnight."_

" _Then wait here with me. Near midnight I'll take you to where I buried her."_

" _Get word to the common folk. Oughta stay in their homes tonight and raw a line of salt outside their doors." Geralt glared disheartedly at the baron. "And try to sober up."_

" _Do I take a shovel, to dig up the grave?"_

" _Take it. You'll need it, but not for that."_

"So it turned out that the baron had buried his child in a burned down ruin of a house. They decided to turn in it into a lubberkin. The baron had to pick it up and take it back up to his home. The poor man did, trying to right his wrongs. Geralt guard the baron from wraiths that had been drawn to the scent of the botchling, eventually they made their way back up to the house. There Geralt guided the baron through the ritual."

" _What now?" The baron asked, holding the botchling carefully, like he would a babe._

" _Repeat after me." Geralt said. "By the powers of earth and sky."_

" _By the powers of earth and sky."_

' _By the world that was to be your home." Geralt continued._

" _By the world that was to be your home."_

 _The Witcher continued softly, watching the baron and botchling. 'Forgive me, you who came but who I did not embrace."_

 _The baron fought down tears. "Forgive me, you who came but who I did not embrace."_

" _I name thee - say her name - and embrace thee as my daughter."_

" _I name thee Dea and embrace thee as my my daughter." The botchling reached for him for a moment then fell asleep._

" _Good." Geralt said. "Now bury it."_

"The baron did and Geralt stayed behind to wait for the day and night. Sure enough the ritual worked and the spirit led Geralt to a fisherman's' hut, who relieved that Tamara had moved on to Oxenfurt and that Miss Anna had been taken to Crookback Bog, to work for the three crones. Geralt bids the lubberkin farewell and heads back to the baron to report." Herian sighed. "From here on the Crones, take the head. Geralt managed to free Anna from the crones, but she had been turned into a Waterhag, while he managed to break that curse as well but the damage was done. Anna died and later when he returned to the crows perch, Geralt had found that the Baron had hanged himself." Herian looked away. "All because of hooch and a life without love."

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Robert stared at Herian with wide eyes, his mouth agape for what seemed like an hour or more. Any longer and the Witcher thought that flies would take root in the man's maw. Soon enough though, the silence passed. The King tore his eyes away from his travelling companion and gazed at the road in front of them. His mount trotted down the dirt path without a care, unaware of the tale the Dark elf had spun. The dumb creature was as blind to their words as Robert had been to many of the names and phrases that had been drilled into his mind.

For once, the King was more than envious of the creature. To be oblivious, normally the only way he could come about such pleasantries were when a bottle was involved. Maybe two, or three. Sometimes it seemed like a case could have been good enough.

Taking a deep breath, Robert lowered his shoulders and rubbed his eyes. The King had very little he could think of to say when it concerned such an enthralling tale. What could he say? Laugh it off, pity the poor sod of a baron she had spoken of? Both seemed ill advised, for more than a few reasons he could think of.

If not the worst being, how familiar it sounded. Which was odd. Robert was sure he had never heard of a tale such as that. The creatures, the locations, the places, everything sounded like it had taken place off the side of a far off, unknown land. Yet for some reason or another, the King could not shake the chills that ran down his spine. They clutched his back, like claws off the tips of the mightiest of birds or even a man's hand grabbing at his wrist, so thin that he might as well of been but skin and bones.

After a few moments of silence, Robert wiped the sweat from his brow. He flicked the salty fluid off his hand and took the reins of his stead once more. Both the man's eyes focused on the road once again, a much relieved sight if any.

"Well then," he muttered with a shaken tone, "You were not kidding when you claimed that it was quite the tale. It's certainly not like any I've heard before, and I've heard quite the few in my time."

"And it's a true one to boot, I shortened it a rather lot, but then I wasn't there. I only gave the additional detail where I remembered it from Geralts' retelling. I haven't had a contract like that one, but that was personal for both Geralt and the Baron for many reasons. Now two of the three Crones are dead, Harimad was thinking about hunting down the last when we parted ways." Herian rocked gently on her horse, her legs were starting to complain. "Most Witcher contracts aren't like that, usually it's just monster slaying, or the occasional curse." She hugged herself. "I am glad to have never been in that situation, I have had some close calls with dunkards, but then I have always been stronger than any normal man. I can't being to grasp what the poor fool went through. And Geralt had to pick out the evil." She focused on her horse's ears. "Though I honestly miss Witchers work, I guess I miss Kaer Morhen and that world more than I thought. I didn't think that story would remind me so much of what I left behind."

Herian thought about her travels on the Path, of monsters and men. Silver and Steel, it would be good to hold those blades in her hands again. Rangers work was very alike Witchers, both groups spent there lives wandering from place to place. But Rangers work was more political and always involved killing of one form or another. Witchers work was much kinder in that way, the good and bad were easier to sort out. Vesemir would say. " _It used to be easy, humans good, monsters bad. Now it's all muddled."_ Herian glanced at Robert, then at the road, all this world needed was monsters and it would be the same. Or maybe it already had its monsters, men came in a thousand different flavours. She missed curse breaking, it was rewarding in a way slaying monsters or men would never be.

"The little things can often do that," Robert replied, "You can avoid the larger aspects of your past, but the little things can simply creep up at any moment when you're least suspecting it. A name mentioned out of the blue, someone remembering a place you once visited, and the odd mention of a knife that once came a bit too close to your neck one too many times."

Robert shifted atop his horse, "I won't try to imagine what you left behind in all its glory, but it often is hard to forget about them. Sometimes I too find myself remembering the days of my past, the time I spent with my father. Spending the wee hours of my youth with others such as myself. You'd be surprised at all the small things that can bring up some unfortunate memories."

"Such as the sea for instance," he noted, "In King's Landing I often try to avoid gazing off into the blue seas of the port. It simply does not suit me well, not since a time long ago, back in my youth. It was the same time I actually came well acquainted with your lord actually, back when the two of us were being fostered by Lord Arryn, my former Hand to which you're standing in for now."

For a moment, Robert gazed up at the sky and looked upon with a gaze. The light blue of the sky reminded him of the ocean, with clouds acting as the vicious waves that tore everything they touched apart.

It reminded him of that day long, long ago atop the walls of Storm's End. It was just him and his brother, both gazing out to the sea as their parent's ship was torn asunder by the waves. They were so close to port, and yet within a moment, both were gone. Disappeared beneath the waves in an instant with nothing but the shattered planks of their ship to remind him and Stannis of what they had lost that day, and what they still had.

"I had noticed that, Ned has times when he fades away. I think he is remember your war, that always leaves marks, scars. Sometimes they get better with time, others not. I haven't fought in a war and beyond the death of my mother. I don't have any triggers, like you and your war veterans do." She looked down at her hands. "Some wounds don't heal."

Robert bit back a sigh, "No, they do not."

"The rebellion left many of us with wounds that have not and likely will never heal. The physical scars remind us of the terror we faced when dethroning the mad King and the emotional ones? Well, Ned and I both share such wounds. In fact, the matter of his recent loss must have been even more painful for him because of it. It was a savage time, and not one any of us are eager to see again anytime soon."

The Targaryens had taken much from Ned. The poor soul had lost not only his brother and father to the mad King, but the Prince sought to take his sister as well. Robert remembered clearly that day he saw the Stark again, and even then he could see the icy chill creep into his already bleeding heart.

"Do you have any ideas how I could help Ned? Beyond what I am already doing? The best I can think of is trying to sort out whatever mess you've made and keeping an eye out for people who wish him harm." Herian just managed to keep from scowling.

Unbeknownst to the Witcher, whilst she didn't scowl, Robert did caught the slight quiver that crossed her lips. The motion was slight, something many would not have noticed. The King though, just managed to catch it quick enough to earn himself a chuckle.

"For Ned?" he mused, "That is easier said than done. Since the Rebellion Ned has been infamously known as the Lord of the North with the frozen heart. He rarely lets people in when he can. I've heard more than a few whispers of people wondering if his very skin is made of ice due to how stern he often appears."

"But when it concerns my old friend? Well, you're not on the wrong path. Ned has always been the type to look out for those he trusts. The mere fact that you're doing the same for him in turn is surely to help him along. The poor sod often tries too hard to keep people he cares for safe. Its left him rather ragged on more times than even I can count."

"Well I asked Jon to see if he could keep Ned from bringing the rest of his family down. They are much safer in Winterfell, as it is I will have my hands full with just Ned and Jon. And you, when it's convenient for me." She stuck her tongue out, though with her helm the action was mute. "Sansa I can trust to be predictable and Ayra needs a distraction to keep her out of trouble." Herian threw her arms up. "The rest of them I don't have the faintest idea how to keep them safe, if he does bring them south."

The hunter's exasperation earned a small chuckle from the King. From his past experience with Ned himself, her annoyance with the Stark clan was not something that surprised the King too much. In fact, if she wasn't at all irritated, Robert might have thought the Witcher a saint of some kind.

"Ah, that is quite the matter." he chuckled, "At times I often envy my friend's large family, but others? I often wonder how he hasn't gone mad himself while dealing with them all. The sheer fact that you're taking charge of keeping each of his children under your watch is little more than a monumental task in itself."

The King waved his hand in the air, "Still, how to handle such a matter. Unless you're willing to hire aids to your cause, that is quite the troublesome matter. I'd honestly have trouble myself in keeping them in line. Sorry to say but unless you know of how to keep an eye on each of them at all times, I'm at a loss just as you are."

Herian wanted to rub her temples, this job was going to age her years in advance. "Bloodly, fucking, buggering hell." She muttered rather loudly and resisted the need to shout. "I'm gonna need to go for a run when we stop for the night, or I will go mad."

Robert leaned forward and let loose a deep, hearty laugh, "Ah! Ah, fair enough. We all need something to let off some steam at times. The last thing I would like to see is my Right Hand to go mad before we even reach home."

Herian shrugged and laughed. "I'm used to just looking after my own skin, keeping tabs on six other people is going to be challenging. I mean here," she pulled her amulet from around the neck and offered it to the King. "The wolf head is my Witcher Medallion, the little tooth is a totem of Hircine and the white moon and star was made by my grandmother. It has magic that lets her know how I am at any given time that she wishes to know. It has other properties as well but that is not the point. I have eight uncles and aunts, everyone in my family has one of these. Just so we know that we each are safe. That doesn't count cousins or half siblings. She only started making these when she lost my eldest aunts and uncle for over two centuries. Imagine trying to keep track of all that without help!"

Gazing at the amulet, Robert blinked. Till now the King had assumed that the medallion was simply something from the Stark House. It looked similar enough to a direwolf that anyone who saw it could have easily mistaken it for something forged by the smiths of Winterfell. As he gazed at the piece of metal though, Robert struggled to wrap his head around everything he had been told. Hell, the range of Herian's family was close to mind blowing enough as it was, not to mention the time-frame.

Did she really say two centuries? Or had Robert heard wrong?

"My, you weren't kidding." he muttered, "Something like that would make Ned's family seem like nothing more than trying to keep track of some mice in a cage. I'd throw up my hands in defeat if I was in such shoes."

"I'm just glad it's Grandmother keeping track and not me. When you live for so long, families do get big, even if you only have a child or two a century." She sighed. "I will just hope that Ned is of sound enough mind to leave Rob and the rest up there."

Robert shrugged, "I'm sure Ned will. If there is one thing I've always known, it's that family always comes first with Ned. He'll make the right decision, especially after recent events. He is a thick headed, stern Lord, but a family man is what truly lies beneath that icy exterior, along with all the wolf pelts."

Robert grimaced. "Indeed, if you saw the last time some poor sod managed to do something to his family, then I doubt you'd have to worry about him making some poor decision on their account."

"I'll take your word for it." she looked down at the reins of her horse and blushed, she gathered them up and offered them to him. "I would like to meditate if it's alright with you, and well. I have a fear of horses."

The King raised a brow. He looked at the reins and considered the prospect, "A fear of horses? You? I would never have imagined such a thing. By your tales, I had half expected you to be afraid of nothing but the devil itself."

"Ah, but." he mused with a shrug. The lord reached over and took the reins from the Dark elf, "By all means, do what you need to. I'll keep a hand on the steads in the meanwhile. Is not any trouble at all."

"Thank you." Herain, flexed her thighs and rose slightly on the horse, set her hand to rest on her thighs and closed her eyes.

Robert could see when her breathing slowed to a rate akin to sleep.

 **This ended up WAY longer then we meant it too, that said we are happy with it. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to some character development for Robert. That said Robert and Herian bonding! Yay! As always just me editing this.**


	8. Chapter 8

Of Funerals and Kings Landing

The burial of Lady Stark was a sober affair, Ned and his children, Jon included all stood in a line at the entrance to the Stark catacombs. As Lady Starks coffin made its way from the house Sansa sung out, her voice soft with restrained tears.

"Now dear Catelyn lies in darkness,

most loyal of fighters.

The sound of the harp shall not wake the warrior;

nor shall the man hold a golden wine-cup,

nor good hawk swing through the hall,

nor the swift horse stamp in the courtyard.

An evil death has set forth the noble warrior.

A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels,

in Meduseld that she is no more,

to her lady dearest and kinsmen most beloved."

Lord Stark and his children followed the fine coffin into the crypt and stood silently by as it was lowered into a large stone coffin and its lid slide over top. There was no statue, there had not yet been time to make one. When next he returned to Winterfell Cat's tomb would have a fine one of her at her best.

One by one, the Starks and vassals said their goodbyes, Ned lingered till they had all gone. Slowly he walked up and placed a hand at the head of the coffin.

"Goodbye my love." He said softly, then slowly pulled himself away. He need to speak with Rob and Rodrick before departing again.

* * *

Jon picked his way through the north tower up and up. He was trying not to touch anything and keep his eyes peeled for the marks Herian had mentioned. So far no luck, it had been so long and the wind blew straight through the tower. Finally he came to the top of the tower, a clear stop of the floor gathered his attention but sadly nothing else could be gathered save that someone had been here. He wandered around the battered empty room for a few minutes before conceding defeat. But just as he turned away a long blonde hair caught his gaze, it was trapped under a piece of rumble. The young man swiftly walked over and pulled it free.

"Well at least it's something." He folded it up and stashed it in a pocket.

* * *

"Lord-" One of the guards spoke up but swiftly sputtered to a halt.  
In front of the armored men of house Stark, the guard had mistakenly gazed at who he thought was the head of the Stark's assembly from the North. Yet before the guards was anyone but the Head of House Stark.  
"Lord Stark and his family have been delayed; I will fore-fill his duties till he comes." Herian pulled her hood down over her eyes, dismounted and started towards the keep. "Where did you want my Lord?  
The Kings guard shook his head to clear his mind. "Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the small council. Lord Stark presence was requested."  
"Then show me the way." Herian stepped to the side and gestured from him to lead.  
The guards expression was pinched. "Do you wish to change into something more appropriate."  
"No." The dark elf said flatly.  
The Guard started off leading the way through the Throne room. Herian briefly stopped to glance at the Iron Throne, she thought it looked terribly uncomfortable.  
"So Lord Stark sends his pet in his stead. I hardly saw you at Winterfell, but I hear you caused quite a stir." Jaime Lannister said in his mocking purr.  
"Lord Stark wished to return home for his wife's funeral, I am adequately trained to serve in his place till he arrives." Herian turned to him standing straight, and drew her cloak to hide her form.  
Jaime approached at a languish pace. "Only adequately?" He was taller than her by a little less than foot.  
"I learned to run a household, a Kingdom is not so different. It was not something that I spent a great deal of time on, but I have the resources to do it competently." Herian was thankful for her masked helm, it hid her grimace.  
"What are you trained as? You're more heavily armed than the guard." He stopped less than a foot before her. "One can hardly tell you're a woman under all that." His voice dropped to a purr as he invaded her space.  
"That would be the point." Herian smirked, resisting the urge to step away.  
The Lannister's smirk faltered and he looked over to the Iron Throne. "You didn't answer my question."  
"I haven't felt the need to, by your leave." She gave him a sharp nodded and flicked her head at the guard to show the way.  
They walked through a maze of golden stone before coming to a large hollow chamber, with a large table and the members of the small council waiting.  
Varys was the first to speak, while the other worked to overcome their surprise. All of them of course had spies and knew a stranger was coming, but the words of spies did not do the stranger justice.  
"Welcome Lady?" He asked approaching the elf hands cupped and out stretched to take her hand.  
"Herian is fine." She raised a hand and allowed him to shake it.  
Varys took a second to marvel at the masterful crafting of the gauntlet she wore, he could feel the heat of her hand through it. Yet no skin showed, each tiny plate crafted perfectly to her form all on a mesh of strange black material.  
"Herian." Varys smiled bowing his bald head. "We all mourned for Lady Stark."  
"I am sure Lord Stark would appreciate your kind words." She tried to inject warmth into her words.  
Varys smiled and released her hand. "To business. This is Renly Baratheon the Kings youngest brother."  
Herian nodded at the short bearded Baratheon, to her he looked very odd in his finery. Like a Nord masquerading as a Breton.

"And this is Petyr Baelish, the master of coin."  
Baelish was a tall thin man, dark of hair with a moustache and a charming smile.  
"Lord Stark must value you very highly to send you in his place." Baelish said with a smirk.  
"He trusts in my skills." Herian pulled out her chair, the Hands chair she guessed and tried not to think on that. "I assume there is a reason this meeting was called?" She glanced over at a wizened, white haired man. "You must be Maester Pycelle."  
"Yes Lady." He bowed his head and took his seat. "To work then."  
"Without the King?" Herian asked sitting in the high backed chair, it took her a moment to arrange her weapons.  
Renly Baratheon spoke. "Winter may be coming, but I am afraid the same cannot be said for my brother."  
Varys spoke softly. "His Grace has many cares. He entrusts some small matters to us that we might lighten the load."  
Herian felt a growl bubble up from her chest, she squished it before it could be heard. If the Kings actions at Winterfell had been any indicator, she had a good idea of what those 'cares' entailed.  
"We are the lords of small matters here." Baelish said, sitting down and carefully watching the woman.  
Pulling open a scroll. "My brother instructs us to stage a tournament in honour of Lord Stark's appointment as Hand of the King." Renly read over the scroll.  
"Mmm, how much?" Baelish asked.  
"Forty thousand gold dragons to the champion, twenty thousand to the runner-up, twenty thousand to the winning archer." The Baratheon said.  
"Can the treasury bear such expense?"Maester Pycelle asked.  
"I'll have to borrow it. The Lannisters will accommodate, I expect. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold. What's another eighty thousand?" Baelish said casually.  
"What?" Herian letting her disbelief be clear. "Your Crown is three million in debt?" She struggled to wrap her mind around that, never had her grandmother or the Emperor allowed something like that to happen. The elf grinned, ohh her grandmother would have the Emperor drawn and quartered if he let something like this happen.  
"The Crown is six million in debt." Baelish said much to calmly.  
"How did you manage that?" Herian asked.  
"The Master of Coin finds the money. The King and the Hand spend it." The tall man replied.  
"Where is the King now?" Herian asked, not liking where this was going.  
"In his rooms." Varys said, wondering why she asked.  
"I'll go talk to him, this tournament is absurd. Lord Stark wouldn't want anything to do with it!" Herian shot up, chair flying backwards.  
"But we should still make our plans." Baelish half rose.  
Herian deflated and tapped a finger against the table, her clawed gloves taking small bites out of it. "Half each prize. That will still be enough to draw the crowds, set aside gold to increase the guard by at least fifty."  
Tap, tap, tap. "I want a report of all the kings spendings for the last, lets go five months. Also a list of all the sources of income for the Kingdom and how much they bring in. As well as trade routes, both actual and potential. As well as a history of the Kingdom and the surrounding lands. Who has feuds with who, all of it."  
Grand Maester Pycelle's eyes popped out of his skull. "That will make some time to compile."  
"Focus on the matters of coin first. That I would like as soon as possible." She started away from the table and spotted her escort. "You will take me to the King."  
The man only nodded, sufficiently cowed by her display and had to struggle to keep up with her. When she had gone.  
"Well that was unexpected." Varys said.  
"Very, not at all what my spies had reported." Baelish agreed.

Herian and her befuddled escort made swift progress to the kings rooms. The Dark elf growled when she heard the shouts of giggles of women inside. She nodded to the guard an elderly man and forced the door open with considerably more force than necessary.

The King had his hands on a pair of tits and three other woman waiting in the wings.

"Out." Growled the lycan.

The whores looked to each other and then the king.

"NOW!" Herian roared.

They fled like mice into the walls, zipping behind her. Herian felt her eyes glow gold, when the last whore and gone door slamming shut behind them. Herian pushed back her hood and tore off her helm. Her normally soft features were sharpened by the nearness of her wolf and the anger. "Tell me. How did you manage six million gold in debt?" She glared at Robert who had the decently to be afraid.

"I'm not sure." Robert stood up and pulled on a pair of pants.

The Dark elf blinked in disbelief. "You're not sure." She pointed back out the hall. "Six million, plus this stupid tournament, and you're not sure."

"We need the tournament it is traditional to hold one when a new Hand is appointed." Robert walked over and started to pour himself a cup of wine, but stopped just before he did.

"Lady Stark is dead, Lord Stark will be here soon. Your Hand just lost his wife, a tournament is in poor taste at the very least." Her strode over to him, blood red hair blowing out behind her. The scent of sex in the room was annoying her.

"A tournament will bring in more coin than we put into it." Robert walked around his tablet and sat in his large chair.

Herian sighed and rubbed her temples. "Beyond your wine problem, what other expenses do you personally have."

Robert's gaze flicked to the door where the whores had past through.

"Yes you can kiss those goodbye, you have a wife. Plough her, isn't that why you married her? Someone free to fuck and give you heirs?"

"Careful girl." Robert growled.

Herian growled at him, a deep feral sound. "What? You see my face and suddenly I am a girl? I could rip you, your guard and every knight in this kingdom to shreds. You're everyone else's King, you're not mine. You have a problem, you steal Ned from his home to fix it. I will speak plainly and you will listen." She stood on the other side of his desk, her hands on it, it creaking under the strength she was directing through it. Herian let Robert look good and long into her glowing golden eyes.

Robert drew a shaky breath and nodded, normally he would submit to no one. But the Dark elf was terrifying, if this was just angry, he hoped he would never have to see rage.

"You will have no hunts, no whores and you will cut back on the wine. You will attend your small council meets at least four times a week. I only care about you for as long as you keep Ned safe, if you jeopardize him." She opened her mouth and allowed her fangs to elongate. "I won't protect you from your own stupidity. Learn to run your own damn kingdom." She snapped her jaw shut, donned her helm and pulled her hood up.

The door banged open and she found the whores she had sent out standing waiting. "Leave." she snapped.

Seeing that they would not be returning to the King they slowing walked away, fear keeping their mouths shut.

Herian turned her gaze to her guide. "Take me to Grand Maester Pycelle."

The man swallowed and nodded.

Pycelles' place of work was very far from the Kings and deep into the castle. Herian was grateful for this, it wasn't like her to let sister wolf come forward so much. Unless she was fighting, but the Robert pissed her off to new levels and the castle was hot. She hopped her Grandmother sent her gear soon, the daedric was really getting to be too much.

Pycelle was busying around his room when she entered. "Wait outside, I will need your services for a little longer." The man nodded and she closed the door.

"How much free time do you have Grand Maester?" Herian said calmly, sister wolf safely back asleep.

"How much do you need?" Pycelle asked, he wasn't sure how to address the woman.

"I can speak your language well enough, but not read or write it. I need you to show me how, I am a swift study."

The old man's jaw dropped, just who was this person? Swiftly he recovered. "Yes of course. Sit I will get a book to demonstrate and parchment."

Herian left and hour later with a basic grasp of the language and had her guide take her to her rooms. Which thanks to the King, were also Neds rooms. She dismissed him and looked slowly around.

The room was much like the Kings, bed on the far wall, bathroom to the side of it. In the middle a table where the servants had left Neds papers, across from the bed a fire. At her request a large bear pelt had been placed there and a table had been put beside with her small satchel. Two larger chairs sat pointed at the fire, the room was done in soft reds and had a large balcony. Two doors leading out onto it.

"Nice place." She said to no one, she strode her her bag and pulled out her little box. The moon and star lock glowed softly. Herian grinned ear to ear, touching her own amulet the box unlocked and the first things that it offered were hilts of two sword. One's pommel was a wolf head, the other was round with a wolf's head engraved on it.

"Silver and Steel." she sang out and drew both blades from the box, the hard red leather of their scabbards made her heart sing. She set the one with the wolf's head pommel on the table, the Silver blade.

Slowly, lovely she drew the steel blade and cooed. Her rune words glowed gold and the blade was just as perfect as she had felt it. She watched the light shine off of it for a moment before sheathing it and pulling out everything else in the box.

Her master set of Wolf school gear followed, both with armless leather coat and the base set. The supple red and black leather, the mail jerkin, she smiled fondly at the medium weight armour. It would be heaven compared to what she was wearing now. After the Wolf armour came the tribunal styled robes. They were a dark blue, a cuirass over the top have that would stop at the end of her rib cage, large wolf shaped pauldrons, long loose leggings with matching boots. The sigil of house Stark had subtly been worked in where the house of the Tribunal would have normally been. The garb would be light and allow her full moment, while being nicer in cause she need to appear dressed up. Next she pulled out two masks, one the face of the Tribunal, the other a wolf mask, both were a soft silver in appearance.

It took her several minutes to unpack all the books, some huge monstrous things. The Dark elf grinned, Jon would know the pain of Witcher instructional material. It was dreadfully boring, but one did need to know the difference between a ghoul and an alghoul. Lastly she grew out an ebony long-sword, it glowed with power frost magic danced up and down it.

"Thank you Grandmother." The dark blue of the of the Ice blade of the Monarch was nothing to scoff at. She set it carefully above her Witchers blades, then stripped down. After a trip to the wash closet, feeling better than she had done in days she set about cleaning her armour.

By the time she had finished she guessed it was going to be dinner in the soon. She loathed the affair as someone would come to both her. Her gaze flicked to her Wolf School armour and she did a little jump of glee, but an excuse to put the gear on made dealing with humans worth it. On went the leather leggings, the thick leather boots, metal greaves strapped over top. White tunic; two under-coats, one black that covered her arms to her elbows, the other red that stopped at half the length of the other. Next a heavy leather coat, studded with chainmail. Its high collar framed her face, she put on her amulets and three rings, then pulled on the heavy leather gauntlets, then put a hood on under the collar of the coat. Pulled the wolf mask down over her face and pulled the hood up, she arranged her hair so that it flowed forward around her neck. The picked up the pouch covered bandolier that her blades would hang from. Picking up just the steel blade she put it in its place.

The Witcher strode back to the wash closet and looked into the mirror. Herian grinned into the mirror, it was so good to be out of that armour. Now she felt like the Witcher she was, her eyes could clearly been seen. The mask had been made perfectly, it hugged her face and looked like it had been modelled after her medallion.

"Perfect." She said with a happy smile.

Walking back into the main room she pulled her sword from her back, the motion of drawing it filled her heart with excitement. In a single step she danced, her blade slicing through the air in sweeping arcs to fast for man's eye to follow. One hand, two, one two, her hands moved on and off the hilt effortlessly. Muscles remembering lessons long forgotten, she bent and twisted, pivoted and pirotte. She was mindful of the furniture, her blade would slice through it like butter. Lastly she gave one last over head slice and thrust her left hand forward, only remember at the last minute to not cast Aard.

With a grin she realized she wasn't even winded.

"HA!" She gave a triumphant shout, not even the Queen could ruin her mood now. She slide the blade back onto her back and stretched, you just don't get that kind of speed with Daedric. Well maybe if you were Nerevar and her first three born, but then they all had cured corprus. So they didn't count among the mortals.

The Witcher rolled her shoulders, grinned and looked out at the setting sun. So very many things that needed doing, she need to see if there were any records of Jon Arryns health before and during his sickness. A city to explore, people to meet.

Herian strode out of the room onto the balcony and glanced out at the wall, the room faced the ocean and the walls were weathered and mossy. She walked over to wall and ran her hand over the pitted stone. "It will do in a pinch." Turning back and heading inside she made her way over to her gear and waved a hand over it and flicked her wrist.

All her things disappeared from view, another flick and twist, a trap to anyone who broke her illusion. Picking up a heavy grey cloak she draped it over herself and arranged her sword over-top of it.

Slipping out of the room she wove another ward and trap over the door and made her way out of the castle. Moving with silent cat like grace, slipping from shadow to shadow.

No one, not one spy saw the witcher leave the castle, nor did anyone see her make her way into the winding maze of streets.

The dark elf kept an eye on the rooftops, making a mental map of places to run too. Every city had its highways, it would just be a matter of sniffing them out. Herian moved down into the market district and picked the noisiest fullest bar she could find.

She slipped in behind a group of drunkards and wove her way through the sea of people. Most were too involved with each other to notice her, the ones that did wisely found something else to stare at. The witcher found a corner booth, mostly cloaked in shadow and relaxed into it. She drew in her cloak and pulled her hood down, the hunched slightly over, closing her eyes she listened.

In the kitchens she could hear the rattle of pots and pans, the heavy footsteps of the chief. Above her she could hear the creak of a missused bed, and the grunts of a man. She sorted through the sounds, she blocked out the pots and pans, the shouts of sex and drunken slurring. Eventually she just heard want she was seeking, gossip.

"Kings gonna hold a torny."

"Lord Stark is the new hand."

"Lord Stark didn't come down didn't ye'ah hear?"

"What happened."

"Lady Stark was murdered, some stranger from the north came down instead."

"Stranger?"

"Yeah, frightening man. Wears all black, moves like a ghost."

"I hear it was a woman, more beautiful than the queen."

"A woman? Are you daft? There are no warrior lasses."

"This one is, black armour, taller than you but shorter than Fill. Red hair, red like blood with eyes to match."

"No fucking way, no woman would be named hand of the king. Much less some Northern freak."

"I still think he was a man, that armour was amazing. Danna saw him come in from her window. She said the stranger worn black armour with grey cloth wrapped around it. Carried strange curved two sword, two daggers on his back and a large bow. All of the same black metal."

"Danna is half in her cups at any given time. I'm surprised Little Finger hasn't fired her yet."

"Little Finger has got bigger problems than to worry about some whore who likes her drink."

"A wonder whos done Lady Stark in? I heard she was a fine wench in her day."

"I'll bet my right hand it was the Lannister, the blondes and the Starks have never got along."

"Aye probably, but I guess we will never know. So about about a game of dice?"

Herian had to restrain herself from chuckling, so they thought her male. Could be worse, heck it might even be useful in the long run. She turned her attention to another group of people, ignoring a serving wenches glare.

"I wonder what knights will come to the torny."

"All of them I imagine, our King is always generous with the winnings."

"It's too bad we won't be able to see the jousting, think of the money to be made on bets!"

"I'm sure we'll come up with something, maybe we could run bets between the Lords and Ladies."

"I don't know, I'd rather not get caught."

"There are always the sword duels, the ones held in the pits, the whole city can turn out for those. We can collect bets there."

"Aye, much safer."

The serving wench came over to the Witcher bottle of rum in hand. "You can't just sit and not order." she glared.

The werewolf straightened out and leaned back, one thing she love about her armour was that it hid her figure under all the layers, well save her legs, but her cloak hid those.

"Sorry lass." Herian drawled thickly making herself sound masculine, eyeing the womans' body appreciatively. "Slipped my mind." She reached into a coin purse and pulled out ten gold pieces and set them on the table, "Ye're rum and whatever is on the house. Don't bother with a mug."

The wench set the heavy brown glass bottle on the table, swept the coins into her hand and strutted off.

The Dark elf grabbed the bottle, pulled the cork out, using on hand she lifted her mask out of the way and took a long swing.

"Ugh." she set the sweet drink down and grimaced. "I've definitely had better hooch." She fixed her mask and leaned back into the shadows, as the maid came back and put a bowl of stew with a thick dense piece of bread.

"Anything else for you sir?" The serving wench asked.

"No, just leave me be." Herian tossed another coin at the woman.

She departed with a smile, Herian poked at her food. "To oblivion with it." She pulled her mask up making sure her hood hid her features from the casual glance and attacked the food.

The dark elf hadn't been ate much in the last few weeks, just in the mornings and nights. The stew was surprisingly good, large pieces of meat with potatoes, carrots and other vegetables. She stopped only to drink more of the sweet booze, quickly getting used to it, she used the bread to mop up the sides of her bowl, then fixed her mask and retreated into the shadows of her corner.

The Witcher took a minute to recenter herself, mugs clinked, toasts were made, drunken leers. It was hard sorting threw the useless noise.

"Did you head down to the docks today? The fish were extra fatty."

"There is this new girl at the Wicked Grace, lovely wench."

"Taxes tomorrow, I hate taxes."

"Beer, beer, beer, tiddly, beer, beer! A long time ago, way back in history!"

Herian hummed with the tune for a moment before shoving it to the back of her mind.

"I wonder how Lord Stark will do as the Hand, I miss Jon he would come in for drinks."

Herian felt her ears twitch forward.

"So do I, he was a good man." A large broad black haired man raised his cup to his companions, "To Jon Arryn! You will be missed."

Herian rose silently from her seat, grabbing her booze and made her way to the group, they were clustered around a rickety table, four in all, all rather glum. Herian hooked a stool from another table and pulled it up to theirs and sat with wolfen grace.

She set her still mostly full bottle in the middle of the table. "Next one is on me."

"What do you want stranger?" The black haired man had a stubbly beard and a heavy brow. He and his party looked a wee bit confused at her mask. "You one of the Kings men?"

"Nay, I don't answer to the King. But one could say I have a vested interest in dear old Jon. I overheard that you knew him." Herian leaned forward putting a hand under her chin, elbow on the table.

"What for?" The man asked warily.

"Lets just say I am looking into his death a bit more closely than has been done previously." Herian pitched her words quietly, just loud enough for the people at the tablet to her.

The groups eyes widen and they glanced at each other.

The black haired man, grabbed the bottle of rum and poured himself a mug. "Are you one of Lord Starks men then? You've got the wolf thing down."

"You could say that." Herian said, sitting up slightly.

The man nodded. "Alright, we'll help you. My older brother is a North man, he always said that Lord Stark was a kind and just Lord. Any friend of his is a friend of ours. What do you want to know?"

"In what health was Jon when you last saw him? Did he seem stressed or worried?" Herian asked slipping into Witcher interrogation mode.

The man looked down into his cup. "He was a fit as a racehorse, really rather impressive for someone his age. He near drank us under the table."

"Did he do that often?"

The man slowly shook his head. "No, Jon only took to the cups when something was bothering him. Though he'd never say what, Kings business, he'd say."

The Witcher nodded. "Do you know his habits? He'd like to go, what did he do?"

"Rarely saw him out there, mostly kept to the castle. Save when he wanted to have a drink, would go on and on about the records up there. Now dense they were, how flawed." The man took a drink.

"Do you know if he had any enemies?"

"Jon was friends with everyone." The woman of the group said, a brunette.

Herian sighed and stood. "Thanks for your time. Ask the guard for Herian, if you think of anything else and if it's urgent. I'll be back next week either way."

"Herian?" The man asked and look at her more closely. "You're a -"

Herian put a finger to the lips of her wolf mask.

The man's jaw snapped shut and Herian slipped away, grey cloak swirling around her.

 **I hate ff formatting sometimes, I have this all nicely indented in my file but here it all goes away. I don't have the patience to restore it.**


	9. Chapter 9

Meet and Greet

Herian started back towards the castle, the cobbled streets wet with dew, houses blanched white by the sun. Eventually she came to a main square, a large fountain in the middle. She closed her eyes for a moment then opened them.

In her mind she saw a bright sunny day, merchants filled the square peddling their goods, bards sung out playing there lutes, drums and flutes with zeal. Peasants clustered around the bards dancing and laughing. A preacher to the Eternal fire was shouting about the evils of the non-humans and magic users. And the chatter, the cacophony of chatter, haggling, talking, swearing and laughing.

The Witcher felt a smile on her lips. "Ah Novigrad, I wonder if you still have doppers in your streets and Godlings in your houses." She inhaled, it even smelled like Novigrad, of sea and salt, of people. She hated cities, but even she would admit she held Novigrad highly, Zoltan, Dandelion, Priscilla, they made Novigrad worth enduring.

Her fingers twitched, she really need to get her hands on a lute, having something to play would make serving as the Hand much more bearable. A distraction from all the bullshit, plus it was calming to boot.

A shriek pierced the air followed by a sob. "Please leave me be!" More sounds, grunts and laughter.

Herian turned away from the sound. "Not my problem."

A woman screamed, and pleaded.

Herian sighed and turned toward the sound her stride picking up speed. "Evil is evil." She raced through the streets with inhuman speed, her armour jiggled and after a sharp turn into a side street the imagine of four men, gaining up on a small woman, a whore by her dress. One already had his prick out and two of his friend were holding the girl down.

The Witcher exploded forward, her fist connected with the jaw of the first man and sent him reeling into the street.

Both men released the woman and one pulled out a knife, he lunged at the witcher arm outstretched to stab.

Herian stepped into his swing, grabbing his wrist and twisting it back ward, she caught the knife as the man let out a pained yell. She pulled him toward her causing him to tumble toward her then released his wrist to slam his head into the wall. His nose crunched and he fell to the ground with a sob.

She dodged stepping under a wide swing from the second grunt that had been holding the woman and stabbed the knife into his elbow, he screamed just in time for her swinging form to smash her elbow into his face. His head hit the wall with a thud, and he down and out with his friend.

Wasting no time she flicked her knife into the third mans throat, he went down with a bloody gurgle. Finally leaving the first man, his prick still out, his bottom lip wobbled, his eyes wide with terror.

Herian snarled. "Collect your friends and leave."

The man shoved his prick back into this trousers and walked carefully around the Witcher.

The first two men she downed were pulled to their feet and the third was left lifeless in the street, blood staining the ground red.

"Th-thank you." The woman pulled herself to her feet slowly, staring at the taller Witcher.

Herian looked down at her and gave a wolfish nod. "Your welcome." She turned to leave, not bothering to avoid the blood pool.

"Wait!" The woman pulled a small coin purse from her boot. "Here, you saved me."

Herian glanced at the coin purse then plucked it from her hand, she gave a small bowing nod, then returned to the main street without a backward glance. Out of sight of the whore she looked down at the pouch and smiled. "Just like old times." The pocketed the bag.

As she walked, the Dark Elf smirked. Against her belt, the sound of coins clattering against one another and the weight of the purse struck a cord. Both dusted off memories and sensations that had been long overdue. She imagined herself strolling down familiar streets. Not as cleanly kept, the stone pathways were more worn and beaten and the dirt between the blocks were far more noticeable. It was not unwarranted. King's Landing was like a Capital, a throne for only the highest of positions in the land.

Herian chuckled, that was exactly what it was in truth. The terms might have been different, the titles and the customs. Oh, how she wished that for one day, one simple day that everyone called each other by what the elf was familiar with. No stumbling over a title she mispronounced or mistaken for another. Odd how often that happens, but it is how one says when it concerns a new culture. Takes time to adjust.

As her boots scoffed against the pavement beneath her, the Witcher huffed. Thankfully there were things between this land and her own that were not so different. The golden palaces and builds were much more decorated than the halls back in her land, but underneath? In the alleyways and the slums? Oh, Herian could not forget such a revolting stench if she had tried desperately to do so. The scent of blood, of filth, of sweat, and of much more revolting things? It almost made her feel right at home if she was truthful.

"Heh, now that is a sad thought." she mused, "Why out of everything, does this stench have to be the thing that makes me nostalgic?"

Could have been the countryside, the stone walls of Winterfell that felt so alike to similar fortresses back in her realm, anything at all really. Yet it seemed as if the slums of the defiled and stingy had to be what brought back her fondest of memories.

The elf shrugged, must have been all the little assignments, the little rough ones. Tracking down scents, picking up trails. The ones that always seemed to shuffle their way through the most rotten, moist, and revolting parts of the cities, towns, villages, and whatever little gathering places for the vile and consumed. Rather sad that even such a capital as this had such a place, but it was of no surprise. Even with all her years and experiences, one thing had been burned into Herian's mind so hard that no potion of healing could come close to removing.

No place was as clean as it appeared. With the gold they put up, the silver and decorations, it was all but a front. Like a thinly layered brush of gold paint over a rusted interior. It could be as beautiful as could be, but the lightest of pressures would peel off the covering and expose the poison underneath. It was like a stuffed piece of game, so elegant on the outside and yet hollow with but the simplest of fluffs on the inside. Herian had seen it many times before and would sure she would see it many times after as well. If anything, it was just the slightest bit disappointing.

It was a fool's errand, but could just once there be a place that was actually as wondrous as it seemed on the inside as it did on the outside? Just once? Even in the most backwaters of places?

Herian took a deep breath and shook her head. Focusing her mind elsewhere, the Elf continued down the stoney path without a care in the world. Along with the jingling of the coins in her pocket, the streets came to life with familiar sounds. The drunken laughter of crowds of idiots basking in their drinks. Women posed off the corners of streets in less than flattering outfits, and Herian had seen her fair share to be certain of that. And one must not forget the bloody, wet, and painful sounds of brawls exploding through the air with every bloody knuckled punch. Each of these sounds flew through one of the Witcher's ears and exited the other. So used to such sound was she that Herian barely even took the time to bat an eyelash.

"Nice to see that the nightlife is as active as ever," she mused, "Wonder how things get when people actually do get a bit out of hand-"

An explosion of wood and nails sudden shook the street. Just to the Witcher's right as she spoke, a door erupted in a hail of broken planks and metal shards. The debris rocketed into the street from one side to the other. Herian slowed to a halt, her boots stopping just an inch or so as a particularly large chunk of wood sailed across the air and smacked some poor sod right in his nose.

"-well," Herian blinked, "Might have spoken a bit early there…"

Across the street, a small crowd of people gathered around what used to be the front door of a pub. The door once belonged to a fairly sized building, two stories at the most with windows, cracks down its sides, and a small sign hanging precariously above it. Without the door, noise and shouts echoed louder and louder from the small establishment. It painted a rather obvious assumption of a bar, something Herian's noise could tell from a mile away. Even with the stink of several unwashed people around her, the Dark Elf smelt far too much booze, whine, and sex for the building to be anything but. The shouts of 'tabs' and 'drinks' didn't do much to hide the establishment either however.

Whilst others gathered around the newly opened pub, Herian stood at the very back end of the crowd and gazed inside. She had no interest in joining in on whatever madness was going on inside. If a bar fight was brewing, then she wanted no part of it. Herian didn't fancy herself as someone who dove right into something as savage as that. She was more akin to the type who ended the insanity before some poor fool got themselves hurt or worse, let along getting anyone else involved. Boar-ish idiots, if they couldn't hold their drink then they shouldn't be anywhere near an establishment like this.

Involvement or not, the Witcher peered over the crowd of people and took a gaze inside. Tables and chairs were thrown everywhere inside the small building. Some were missing a leg or two whiles others were broken straight in half, as if they had been smashed over some poor bastard's head for the fun of it. Inside the pub, men were strung about the establishment like fish at a dock. Bodies were thrown over the furniture, the railings, and one poor sod had been tossed halfway through a nearby wall with nothing but his legs sticking out. The entire bar seemed like a trash heap, as if a wild animal had been through the building. Just of course, without the blood and remains.

"It is like a tornado had been through here," Herian mused, almost impressed. If she hadn't known better, the Witcher would have assumed someone would have conjured up a literal storm through the place to get back at a man who cheated a cards.

In truth, that wouldn't have been too strange. Over the years, the elf had seen much worse things in her time in concern to magic. One particular event involved a sad goof who got caught with one too many cards up his sleeve. For the rest of the night he had the unfortunate circumstances of being stuck as a goat. Poor bastard didn't get changed back until one of his friends rounded up enough gold to pay back the man who lost in the first place.

At the broken entrance of the pub, a scream echoed forth. The sudden shriek turned the heads of everyone present, Herian included. All eyes turned to the establishment's entrance, just in time to bare witness to an interesting sight.

A bloody, beaten body came flying from the bar's entrance. Before the crowd's eyes, a man was tossed from the building and out into the street. His body was bloody, clothes worn and torn, and his face was akin to a piece of beaten meat. As if they were the sea, the crowd of people parted way as the body was thrown in their direction. Out of the entire crowd, only few remained where they were and watched as the drunk met the ground with a sharp splat. Herian watched as the man slammed headfirst into the street, face skidding across the rocky surface. As if his face were made of cheese, the man's skin skid against the ground as if it were a grinder. A trail of blood stained the street crimson, filling the air with a painfully copper stench. After a few seconds of sliding, the man's beaten form came to a slow, painful stop. He sat in the middle of the road, amongst a large crowd, motionless.

Of all those in the mob of people, none made a move to approach the man. Women frayed away from the bloody mess of a man. They whispered, their harsh gossiping cutting into Herian's ears like sharp knives. The men did nothing as the man twitched and trembled upon the ground. His fingers curled and gripped the earth beneath him. A painful, coughing wince brushed against the street's surface, as did a bloody cough.

Herian glanced at the crowd, her eyes travelling back and forth amongst them. The Witcher narrowed her gaze at the men and women. Not a one even considered helping the man. She saw it in their eyes, their movements or lack thereof. It was like an audience at some sick play, merely observing what was going on in front of them without a hint of concern on their faces.

"Pathetic." she hissed.

Turning her gaze back to the unfortunate soul, Herian stuck one foot out and marched toward through the mass of people. Lists, all written in blood could go into describing all the terrible things the elf had done in her life. Some she would be ashamed of, others she could hold her head up high in the name of. As she glanced across the crowd, the Witcher shook her head. She would not be held in the same regard as these pathetic wastes of space. What would her family think of her then? Oh all the gods she knew, Herian would never be able to live it down.

Whilst the crowd looked on, a single figure pushed through the mass of people, uncaring shoving men, women, and anything less out of her way. Herian yanked men back from their shoulders and tossed them out of her way. She grabbed women by their dresses and coats and threw them aside.

Amongst the crowd, a particularly ugly looking man fell forward. A sudden shove to the center of his back upset his balance, knocking him off his feet. The sap fell forward and crashed into three other men. Irritated, the men shoved the man back. For what seemed like a minute or so, the brute stumbled to regain his footing, tripping over his ill fitting boots while the scent of booze stained his brain. Once steady, a hiss escaped the man's lips. Spinning on his heels, he turned to face the poor fool who dared to shove him in the first place.

For his trouble, Herian slammed her palm directly into the man's chin. The painful crack sent both the man's head back with a sudden snap and his body to the ground, unconscious.

Through the crowd, Herian continued her trek towards the unfortunate soul who sat bloodied in the middle of the road. Members of the crowd slowly inched themselves out of the woman's path. The trail of bodies grew in size as the Witcher continued her onslaught. Broken noses, and bruised cheeks staining the ground, each becoming more plentiful than the blood itself.

Her boots now stained with blood, Herian pushed her way to the front of the crowd with one last series of shoves. Like a knife, the Witcher grabbed the front most men in front of her and threw them aside. With all obstacles aside, the Dark elf turned her eyes downward. At the very center of the crowd, strung across the graveled street, there sat the beaten body that had been thrown from the bar. Since she started moving, the body hadn't moved an inch. Fingers twitched, boots kicked pathetically against the ground, and a single bloody cough was spat against the ground.

Frowning, Herian stepped one foot forward and reached for the man. He was breathing still, just barely but she could hear it. If none of these fools would even attempt to help the poor soul, then the best that could be done was to get him away from their prying eyes.

In the act of reaching for the man however, Herian stopped. Her foot remained forward, one hand extended toward the body's beaten form. Fingers were but inches from his shirt, coated in blood and dirt. The sounds of breathing rocked the Witcher's ears, as if someone were whispering from over her shoulder.

'This is…' she mused, narrowing her eyes.

Slowly, the Witcher gave the man a once over. From head to toe, Herian's eyes inspected the body. The colour of his hair, the shade of his skin, the scent of his blood, and the texture of his clothes, pants, shirt, and the boots in all. To a human's perspective, a person could see many things. Often enough, their feeble minds could only recall a vague memory of something from a few hours earlier, a day at the most. Yet to a Witcher, they could recall much more than that, so much so that they might as well of caught the memory in a frame that could be viewed at any time.

To the crowd of people, this man was but a pathetic drunk, likely beaten for one too many comments to someone far more sensible than he was. That's all the needed or cared to know, it was simple as that. To Herian however, it was even simpler than that.

"Fools," she muttered, "I'd think one beating would have filled you up for one night. But like your revolting drink, it just wasn't enough for you, was it?"

Herian dropped her arm and stood up straight. The man before her was one of the three fools she had beaten up back in that alleyway shortly ago. Herian remembered the revolting smell of the man's blood, as well as her own handy-work. Hell, her knuckles still recalled the sensation of socking this fool right across the face. The last she saw of him, he and his remaining cohorts were dragging the remains of their other foolish friend back down the alleyway to god knows where.

Apparently, a bar had been their destination.

The Witcher rose to her feet. She sighed. All of this for a man she came within inches of snapping his neck just a short while go? Such a wasted bit of effort. In front of a bar or in an alleyway, the man ended up bloodied all the same.

Herian sighed, "Well, if you're here…" she mused, "Where are your friends?"

Light shined out of the broken entrance to the bar, flowing over the mugger's bloodied body as well as the Witcher herself. Raising her head, Herian turned her gaze to the broken door frame. A curious ember flickered in her eyes. Two of the muggers were accounted for. One was ten feet under while the other was in front of her, beaten to a pulp. The question was, what of the other two? Were they in the bar? Drunk off their asses? It wouldn't surprise the elf in the slightest.

She chuckled, "Heh, maybe they rustled this poor bastard up? Men's egos are so easily bruised."

Placing her hands on her hips, Herian mused on the idea. Wouldn't be the first time she had seen thugs beat each other up for their own failings. If they couldn't hurt the one who made a fool of them, then someone had to suffer.

The Witcher reached up and with two fingers, rubbed her forehead through her mask. Boredom might have been a bit of a bane back in the north, but when she asked for some excitement, this was not what she had in mind. Bandits and thugs were about as entertaining as cleaning some poor sod's bathhouse, just with an even worse smell somehow.

Whilst Herian grieved for her lost nightlife, a sudden darkness embraced the street. Since the moment the bar's entrance had been kicked open, a steady stream of light flowed into the city. It was like a beacon, illuminating the street as if a spotlight for this pathetic show. But as quickly as the light had emerged, it was gone. All that remained was a few flickers of light, like embers from a dying flame.

qAs the light disappeared, the crowd, Herian included turned to face where it had been. There, in the entrance of the bar, now stood a figure. A silhouette, encased in darkness, covered from head to toe in a blackness that obscured every feature of the man aside from his shape and height. The crowd simply witnessed the sight of a man, so large that he took up the entire doorway, perhaps even more than that.

From amongst the crowd, a man turned to the door and scowled, "Oi! What are you doing, just staring there for?!"

The shout shook the attention of all the crowd. Everyone, men, women, and Witcher turned in place and faced the bar's entrance. No one said a word beside the first, it was an eerie silence. The shadow of this massive silhouette fell upon everyone present, almost like an eclipse in the middle of the afternoon. Amongst the crowd, Herian stepped to the side and narrowed her eyes. "Now what?" she wondered.

As the mob of people watched on, each bore witness as the silhouette moved. Thick as a tree trunk, a colossal leg stepped out from the doorway and stepped out into the street. A massive boot, as study as armour, slammed down upon the gravel road with a thunderous smack. The crowd felt the vibration, similar to an earthquake shaking underneath their feet. Another swiftly followed. One after another, a pair of massive boots marched forward into the crowd of people with the rest of the giant of a man swiftly following. With each step, more and more of the light from the bar's entrance seeped out from behind the man. The candle light's shine filled up the street once more, illuminating the crowd and the brutish creature making his way towards him.

Of the crowd, many had to lift their heads up in awe as the giant of a man drew ever more near. Even Herian had to arch her neck back to see the giant in all his glory. Hell, she could have almost mistaken the man for an actual giant. Whilst not nearly as tall, the figure quickly proved to be taller than any poor sod she had seen in Westeros yet.

Massive, standing nearly eight feet tall, the colossus of a human being stood dead center in the crowd with all eyes on him. His attire was remarkably simple, yet just as brutish as his face described. Rough, scarred, with a shotty beard across his chin, the man gazed across the crowd with a sinister gaze. He wore a simple tunic, doused in blood and wine. His trousers were as much the same, covered in grime and blood freshly spilt. Even his boots were stained red, though from the sight Herian was certain that no accident were involved. Bulging muscles threatened to split the attire from the neckline to the sleeves of his tunic. All of it aside from the boots appeared several sizes too small for the giant of a man, as if he could split them as easily as he could a man's skull.

Both the figure's hands were occupied with something, the left with a simple mug while the other hand the man's fingers clutching another's head. The poor bastards just hung in the monster's grip, dangling there without a hint of resistance. By Herian's gaze, she was almost certain the poor soul was dead, skull crushed in the giant's grip. It must have been so easy, like cracking a crate of rotten wood.

With dozens of gazes staring directly at him, the massive man returned the looks with a deep, growling hiss. His voice was low, thick, more like a bear or a lion than that of a man. The tone sent shivers down many who were present. Those at the very edge of the crowd, some even off in a dead sprint at the sound of it.

"Well!?" he howled, "What of it?!"

"Your work? Can't say that's all that surprising." Herian drawled her last word, and stepped off to side, shifted her shoulders back and called on sister wolf. "With all the finesse of a bull." She prowled, the ground was covered in bits and pieces of table and chairs, uneven at best.

As the rest of the crowd silently watched on, the colossal man slowly followed Herian as she strolled about. His bloodshot eyes slowly peered at the shorter woman, barely even blinking as she stepped over the ruins of the bar.

"They're mistake, not mine." he growled out, his tone like that of a couple of boulders crushing a mess of nails between his cheeks, "Why. You know them?"

Herian raised a brow, "Them? Oh no."

"Well, yes actually." she mused, "Met them a little bit ago. Sent them packing after a rather unfortunate misunderstanding. I'd imagine that they ended up here after that, likely to plaster their sorry rears until they forgot what I even looked like."

The massive man spared glance at the man in his hand. The poor sap's broken mug was nearly unrecognizable now, but could recall him and two others stumbling into the bar some time ago.

Shrugging, the man flicked his wrist and threw the broken corpse into the crowd. Men and women scattered as the body met the street, blood splattering over the stone in a revolting squish. The stench of blood filled the air once more, much to Herian's irritation and sister wolfs glee.

"Now was that really necessary?" she asked, "This place reeks enough as it is."

The man scoffed, clearly not giving the slightest of damns. He merely raised his other arm to his lips and drank from the cup in hand. The poor mug was bruised, bent, and cracked. It was rather remarkable that it could hold anything anymore, let alone something to drink.

After quenching his thirst, the giant of a man wiped his mouth and disposed of his drink in a similar manner as the body from earlier. He tossed it into the crowd, nailing some poor soul in the head in the process.

Still watching, Herian couldn't hold it back. As her sister wolf was eager to sink its teeth into the blood soaked atmosphere of the street, the Witcher took one glance at the massive brute and chuckled.

The giant took a bit of offence at that.

"I'm sorry, but this is my first time on these streets, and I must ask," she wondered, "But is King's Landing normally filled to the brim with brutes like you? Cause if it is, I am going to be quite busy over these next few months."

His brow clenching up, the massive man slowly bent forward. While still standing well over a head above Herian, he positioned himself just close enough to the elf to look her dead in the eyes, if a bit awkwardly.

Gravelly as ever, the man spat his next words in her general direction, "Do you have even the SLIGHTEST bit of an idea, of who I am?"

Unshaken, Herian casually lifted her gaze and flicked a bit of slobber off the tip of her mask. Looking up, she stared directly into the man's face and smirked. Even if he couldn't see her lips, the elf had a damn good feeling that a brainless fool like this could miss this.

"Not particularly." Herian admitted, "I've seen quite a few people like you. Some bigger. Some uglier. But there is one thing you do have that I will admit, there hasn't been a single bloke I know that has had it worse."

Reaching up, Herian stopped right next to the man's ear and whispered just soft enough that he and only he could hear her. It was just barely above the sound of a flicker of wind, or a drop in a the smallest of puddles.

Though, she was damn sure he'd be able to hear it.

"You stink far worse than all the others, and that includes the corpses."

Behind the two figures, the crowd watched, each man and women on pins and needles. The air was tense, the wind filled with the smell of blood and booze. Each person could feel their legs tremble, twitching. They were like a herd of sacred cattle, just an inch of two away from panicking and running for the hills.

Amongst the silence, several expressions trembled at a sudden sound. An unsettling crackling of bones, crinkling of muscles beneath tight, bulging skin. Out of sight, a man's hands twisted into a first. Veins pulsating, nails cracking, and skin stretching. Out of the silence, such a sound hit many ears, causing some to turn away in disgust. Yet even still, neither Herian or the man in front of her budged an inch. Their gazes held for what seemed like minutes, eyes staring into the other, neither willing to flinch for even a second.

Then, he snapped.

Fingers twisting into a massive fist, as big as a cannonball, the behemoth of a man let loose a thunderous roar and threw his arm up. At that least double the length of a normal man's arm, the humongous limb leaped forward in a flash and struck out at Herian. The fist homed in on the Witcher's face, like a mace about to smash open a gourd. The crowd gasped. Women covered their mouth in horror while the men averted their eyes.

Each expected a wet, painful snap and the sound of something rolling across the ground. So when seconds passed and no such sound was heard, a slow echo of shock slowly crept in, infectious to the silence that had taken hold.

Herian had stepped just out of reach, both arms tucked behind her back.

The monstrous man roared and started to strike out, wide round punch after punch. Herian stepped and bent like a reed in the wind, grinning maniacally.

"Hold still!" The Mountain bellowed!

"Where would the fun in that be?" Herian asked ducking slily under another punch, spinning and sending her boot straight into this diaphragm.

The blow did not send the man flying but did caused him to stumble back a few steps and clutch his chest.

"That's impressive, most men are puking their guts out after I hit them. Or at the very least flat on their arse." The smell of blood was really starting to get on Herians' nerves, sweet nectar of life. Sister wolf was being far too perky right now, begging to rip into the man's flesh. She took a step back and moved her hands to her sides openly.

His hand still grasping at his chest, the mountain of a man took a moment to glance down at his hand. Bloodshot eyes narrowed at the spot, anger flooded the behemoth's skin. The spot where the elf had struck was less of a wound and more of where someone had spat all across his tunic.

The brute let out a furious snarl. Dropping his arm, the massive man stood straight up and glared daggers at the woman who dared strike him. He saw the motion of her arms, the smirk on her form and how her fingers were welcoming him on. Before all the crowd, a blistering snarl erupted across his brutish face, more akin to a wild animal than something that belonged to some oversized, angry drunk.

The Mountain took one step forward and charged Herian like a bull. His boots shook the ground beneath him, each step followed by a loud, echoing thud. Despite his size, the massive man threw himself forward in a furious dash and crossed the distance between him and this woman in a matter of moments. To everyone who was watching, it was like seeing a rapid beast bear its teeth down upon someone with their back to a cliff-side.

Herian grinned and coiled, as the Mountain charged forward, she stepped to the side, stuck out her foot and boxed him playfully over the back of the head. Then laughed when he tumbled forward. "Giants fight with more skill than you." She purred lowly with mirth.

Eyes widening, the Mountain slammed one of his boots down to the ground. The stomp brought the colossal brute in his tracks, kicking up dirt in his wake. The crowd looked on in horror as the massive monster of a man skimmed toward them. Men and women stumbled back in terror. The massive shadow of the Mountain felt like a tidal wave, just threatening to bury them underneath his boot without even a hint of care.

Just inches from the crowd, the Mountain slid to a stop. Slowly, the massive man raised a hand and ran it over the back of his head. The crowd watched with bated breath as thick, rough fingers lightly brushed against a thin bit of hair. Down the back of his head, the brute lightly touched the stop the elf had stuck him, his own expression as stoic as stone itself. But as stone often did, the mountain's expression cracked with a furious sneer. He clenched his fist, let a hiss seep through his teeth and with the gravel groaning beneath him, the Mountain turned.

"BITCH!"

In a furious roar, the massive man threw himself forward again with a blind fury. The ground shook fiercely as the Mountain charged ahead, fists clenched. Veins pulsated and popped across his forehead, threatening to burst at any moment. With both arms pulled back, the brute of a man leaped at Herian again. Instead of punching, the crowd watched as he instead threw both arms around at woman. He'd crush her into paste, worse than the gruel that damn bar wanted served.

"Fuck!" Herian hissed as he caught her as she dodged to the side, catching her and pulling her to his chest. She hadn't been expecting that, another wild punch, two but to be grappled? That wasn't something that had every happened before, it was common knowledge that exposing ones neck to a werewolfs claws or fangs, was a bad idea. As he squeezed she felt a crack in her spine, she threw her head back and howled, her vocals changing from woman to wolf. Her eyes shifted completely over, and her muscles warped and condensed. Bringing her hands together she brought all of her strength down on his upper back.

Through the crowd, a loud, cracking thud shook the air. The Mountain gasped as a powerful blow stuck him right below where his shoulder blades met. The colossus of a man felt his grip slip. It was akin to someone dropping a large stone down upon his spine. Those who were watching the sudden brawl winced at the sound alone. They watched as Herian brought both her hands down across the monster's back, leaving an actual indent in his skin tight tunic with every blow.

At center stage amongst the crowd of people, the Mountain bit back a cough and clenched his muscles. Biceps became tense, triceps bulged, and the man's entire arm seemed to swell with his own brute force. Around the woman's smaller frame, the behemoth refused to give in even slightly.

"Scream!" he roared, "I wanna hear you scream your LUNGS out!"

Herian was beginning to panic, and was very grateful that she always went at real giants with a sword, as tempting as it was, she didn't want to kill him. Switching tactics, she arched her back away and pressed a thumb to his windpipe, it only takes four ounces of pressure to crush one. Rather than give him the satisfaction she didn't make another sound as she measured the resistance of his flesh, till it made a satisfying crunch.

Amidst a boastful laugh, a sudden, sharp pain erupted within the titan's throat. His boots digging into the gravel road, the Mountain's laughter ended as a gasp escaped his mouth. The massive man felt the thumb as it painfully dug into his skin, akin to a dull knife against his flesh. It pressed, dug deep into the mammoth's neck. The monster of a man clenched his teeth and wrestled against the pressure. His arms contorted, bulging, wrestling against the woman's armoured frame. Yet as the fingers dug into his own palm, the behemoth wheezed.

Air. Where was it? Through his teeth, the monster sucked in as much air as possible, eagerly trying to relieve the burning ache against his lungs. No matter how many gasps of air he took though, the Mountain felt not an ounce of relief. Not a one.

Slowly, things began to change. His eyes became drowsy, glazed over with sudden dullness. A painful burn erupted in the man's arms, like a fire underneath his skin. The crowd watched as the Mountain wheezed, back and forth. He huffed, puffed, and let out a choking gasp. After what seemed like an eternity, something had to give.

Bloodshot eyes rolling back into his skull, the Mountain let out a huff and loosened his hold. Before all, the colossal man drew back his limbs. He released Herian and drew a hand to his throat, his fingers brushing against a bulging red mark pulsating against his skin.

Herain hit the ground with a roll, but before she came to a stop she blasted forth barrelling into the Mountians chest, she grabbed behind his neck, wrenching him toward the ground and drove her knee into his solar plexus, over and over. With one last hit she moved her hands and allowed him to spring back against her bows, with a twist of his arm she spun him to land on his back, then punch him into the floor. Only then did she stop, as he lay dazed and gasping, his face slowly turning purple.

The werewolf knelt, using her cloak to hide her next action, she lightly touched his throat with two fingers. Blue sparks leaped from them, partly healing his throat, just enough so he could breath. She staggered away from him and resisted the urge to down a Shallow potion or heal herself with other magics.

In the background, the crowd watched, amazed at the sight in front of them. The Mountain sat, back first on the pavement. His chest rose and fell with a rhythm, low gasps of air escaping the monster of a man's throat. One hand clutched his stomach while the other held his throat. A small dribble of blood leaked down the side of his face. Slowly, as others looked on, the behemoth brushed the back of his hand over his mouth and looked down at it.

There, on the back of the blistered piece of flesh, was blood. Red and thick. The mountain sneered, teeth gnawing into his bloody lips. His hand trembled, shaking with rage. Fingers curled into a fist, the nails digging into his palm like nails into wood.

"You-! You-!-" he hissed. Across his throat, the man's flesh was burned and bruised. Yet the words still persisted, almost if they were scraping their way to the surface. Many in the crowd took a step back, trembling as the monster of a man struggled to sit up.

"You're dead, deader than dead-" the Mountain muttered, "I'll fuck you till you scream, till you can't even speak. You'll be begging me to kill you!"

Herian laughed, a deep bellowing laugh, she laughed till she had to bend over to hold her very sore and fractured ribs. Turning she took a few steps away from him. "You are not the first man to have threatened me like that, and you will not be the last. If I had a crown for every time a stupid male was ballsy enough to threaten me, I'd never have to take another contract." Shaking her head she grinned then stepped back to him, between his legs and planted her foot on his crotch, and pressed hard. "You know I have been very kind to you, I could have left your throat collapsed, but you just don't know when to quit. As much fun as this has been." She pressed her heel harder against his balls. "Normally, I'd cut your family jewels off for such an insult." She ground her foot. "But I haven't had to work for a victory like that in some time, so you can keep them."

In the street, just outside the ruined pub, whispered began to fill the night air. The same men and women who trembled in fear just moments ago looked on. Their hands covering their mouths, gossip and mutterings became commonplace among the people. Others in the back even spoke openly, each having heard what Herian had said. It was astounding, some could barely believe their ears.

Unbeknownst to the gossipers however, near dead center of the crowd, a vein popped against the Mountain's forehead.

"ARRRRAGH!"

A sudden, enraged roar exploded up and into the street. In a rage, the Mountain sat up and snapped forward with one of his arms. Belonging to the limb, the hand reached over the bruised torso and grabbed Herian's boot. Its fingers dug into the Witcher's boot and slowly, lifted it away from his crouch.

Herian threw her weight down on that leg and whipped her free foot up to collided with his jaw. Like she was kicking a ball, the force carefully measured, ring his bell, hurt like hell, but just this side of snapping his neck, though his jaw would need some medical attention. She fell forward, bending her knee to plant it down on his chest, the other pinning his right arm down at the elbow. Raising her right first high she wailed down on him, sending punch after punch into his cheek.

Again and again, the Mountain felt blow after blow rain down onto his face. The back of the brute's head smacked painfully into the ground, each smack rebounding him back into the air only to be struck down once again. Even so, a sneer never left his face. Whilst his right arm was pinned against the ground, the behemoth of a man raised his remaining arm and lashed out at Herian.

With blood dripping down his lips, the crowd watched as the beast of a man thrashed out like a wild animal. In turn with each punch to his face, the Mountain lashed out with his own fist. The combatant's fists flashed by each other as the blows were exchanged. Whilst Herian wailed down on him, the beast of a man threw his hand out like a sharp, jagged talon. He lashed out wildly, frantically, desperately and all while hidden underneath a thick layer of savage rage. The large brute would make due with anything he could get a hold of, just so long as he made it a bloody mess.

Herian threw herself to his side, then wrapped her legs around his flailing arm, she lifted his side, slammed one foot against the back of his shoulder and then heaved. The air was filled with a sharp crack she dislocated his arm. Twisting to get both legs under his back then punted him away from her. Chest heaving, she wrapped an arm around it and staggered to her feet. Spots dancing over her vision, she'd rather be cut to pieces then have broken bones. "Gonna need a Shallow." she whispered, the tenderness of her ribs and the swelling meant it was very likely she had some internal hemorrhaging. Not the kind of thing she would fix on the fly, she hopped he would give up soon.

A shudder of pain ripping up from his arm, the Mountain roared with pain. Blood spluttered out from the man's maw along with a round of curses. After the swift kick to his back, the massive brute flipped through the air and crashed to the ground with a thud. Such a thud was followed by a thick cloud of dirt, shook from the ground as the behemoth landed across his bruised stomach. The crowd, what remained of it, moved out of the way with shouts and cries. Any sane man or woman would have been terrified to be involved with such a brawl.

Back on the ground, the Mountain grabbed his left arm and cradled it against his chest. It felt wrong, twisted in an unnatural way. It felt useless, so much so that the thought of ripping it from his body crept into his brain. Why keep something he didn't need around, it wouldn't help anyone as it was.

Shaking his head, the Mountain banished such thoughts and slowly rose to his feet. Both legs trembled underneath the weight of his body. They were tired, numb from the hold Herian had placed on them to keep him from thrashing about. He sneered. Were it not for that, then the brute would have stomped on her chest and ground her ribs into dust!

Still, the limbs still had more than enough strength to bring the Mountain to a single knee.

"Yield." Herian hissed, forcing herself to stand straighter, shallow breaths both eased the pain of her lungs and kept the scent of fresh blood out of her nose. "Killing isn't on my list of things to do today."

The Mountain bared his teeth, "Not yours."

"But Mine!"

Digging deep, the colossus of a man bent his knee and shot forward like a ballistic. Staggering slightly, the massive man threw all his weight into a sudden, painful charge at his foe. One arm dangled uselessly at his side, like a piece of meat just hanging off his body. Regardless, the Mountain did not stop. He refused to stop. The crowd frantically did what they could to get out of the man's way. Some were not so fortunate and were thrown aside by his colossal size.

With far fewer steps as a normal man, the Mountain crossed the distance between himself and Herian in a flash. The elf thrusted her fist right between the man's ribs, cracking several of them. In return, the beast of a man threw his right shoulder out, slamming it into Herian, and with his remaining arm, threw the two of them across the street. The pair were like fireball racing across the alley without even the slightest intent to stop.

Finally, the beaten and bruised combatants came to a sudden and loud collision. The Mountain literally crashed himself and Herian through the bar, its back wall and out into the next street. The wall collapsed underneath the Mountain's weight and the brute force of Herian's impact. Splinters and shards rattled the man's arm, unknowingly taking the blunt force of his reckless assault as the pair spilled out into another open street. Their sudden arrival came to the shock of everyone present. The sounds of their brawl had only been a slight breeze to those on the other side of the city's wall.

Herian pushed herself onto her back with an arm, and winced as pain danced over her back. "Right enough playing around." Drawing her legs up she threw herself to her feet and stalked towards the Mountain. The idiot was bleeding all over from the shrapnel, he was just starting to gather his wits when Herian grabbed his head and smashed it into the pavement. She held it up just long enough to see if he was still conscious, then did it again.

Sudden, painful cracks filled the air. The sound of flesh meeting stone echoed into the distance. Again and again, Herian clenched her fingers around the Mountain's head and pounded it into the ground like a hammer against an anvil. Weakly, the massive man reached out and attempted to brush away the woman's hand. Blood seeped down the side of his face, as it did from his mouth and nose. The red liquid practically pooled around the giant of a man. The wounds that covered his body were shallow, but they were the kinds of cuts that bled, badly.

Painfully, the Mountain's fingers brushed against the hand clutching his bleeding dome, but they simply slid off. It was like his head was covered in oil, only with a coppery taste and an even worse smell.

Regardless, the Mountain of a man refused to give up. He was angry, furious, the bloody stained his teeth as he sneered. It helped that he was rather thick headed, for more reasons than one.

"Plougin hell, I've meet monsters with less reliance than you. Time for a nap though." She had to partly sit on him, using her weight to force him back to the ground. Had he been unhurt it wouldn't have worked, but with one arm out of commission it only just did. She wrapped her hands around his neck and started to squeeze, cutting off his blood flow.

She listened to the blood pumping through him, heard when his breathing slowed and he felling into the void of sleep. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten." she released his neck and stood, she looked passively to the crowd. "He'll wake in a few minutes, I'd recommend getting him to a healer before then."

Without looking back she made her way out of the street into the alleyways, only when she was out of sight did she stop and pull a small potion of Shallow out of one of her pouches. Stiffly she raised her mask and threw the potion back, she felt her rings activate to take the edge off the potion. Slowly she made her way back towards the castle.

Back down in the street, a small crowd of people surrounded the bloodsoaked pavement where the brawl had ended. Puddles of red liquid seeped into the earth, staining the titled road red. Commoners, men and women slowly tip-toed closer to the scene and the body that sat beneath it. The closer the crowd got, the slower their shuffles grew. Several covered their mouths in disgust, revolted at the scene of brutality. Another lot looked itching to dive right in, eager to see what could be scrounged off the bleeding body in front of them. Yet still, others remained at a fair distance. There was an uncertainty among the air, leaving a thick stench that would surely continue on into the morning.

Off in the distance, the sounds of armoured boots could be heard. Several in the crowd turned their heads and noticed a pair of city guards coming their way. The men, covered in smooth, silvery golden armour and weapons in hand moved forward toward the crowd. A passer-byer hand alerted the pair to the commotion before running off into another portion of King's landing.

The guard's arrival drew many attention away from the beaten, bloody body. The crowd looked ahead, more than half ready to walk away before the guards arrived. Yet still, as the eyes of the crowd were drawn to other things, very few felt like keeping an eye on the bleeding hunk of meat that had crashed into the street just a few moments ago.

If they had, some might have seen a small shudder roll down the side of the man's right arm. It was subtle, barely noticeable. A finger twitched. Then a second. A third, fourth, and then a fifth. As the guards began clearing the street of the crowd, a bloodied hand twisted across the ground. Five fingers curling into a beaten, bruised and bloody fist.


	10. Chapter 10

The Return of Lord Stark

The Witcher found herself back in her room within the hour, she removed the wards and unlocked the door with a wave of her hand. She kicked the door shut and pulled her gloves off, her knuckles were bruised.

"Plougin hell." she poked at the abused bones. "I've beaten a lot of drunks senseless, but this is a night of many firsts." She strode to her table and removed the illusions and started undressing, placing her gear on it. Thankfully there wasn't much blood on it, she didn't feel much like trying to remove it now.

Herian stretched arms above her head, and listened to her bones grate. The Shallow had done its job, her ribs were better if not completely fixed, but they would be by morning. She walked over to the balcony doors and stepped outside, the cool sea breeze pleasant on her skin.

"Poor guys." she mused. "As stupid as they were they didn't deserve to die in some drunken brawl. I wonder if that brute will end up charged with murder." She ran and hand over her head through her thick red hair. "Probably not, but I shall have to keep an eye out for a warrant, or maybe assign one."

She leaned against the stone rail and looked out to see, remembering. When she and Harimad had left Kaer Morhen, they both knew that Witchers weren't looked fondly on. Sometimes it wasn't so bad, more often than not, people not even drunk, would start a fight, just because they were five or six against two. That they had a fucking chance, Herian and Harimad had taken to beating their aggressors senseless. After cleaning one tavern with their swords, that one act of killing, had followed them for months. The innkeep they had defended took it upon herself to tell everyone that a pair of witchers had murdered six people. Six people who had attacked them first, six people who had every intention of killing her and her friend.

It had taken the Witchers days to get into Novigrad, the guard refused them entrance on account of their killing spree. It had taken Dandelion, a well respected friend, to talk to the guard to allow the Witchers access to the city. That and a Cocktrice in the sewers had also helped.

Herian sighed, reminiscing wasn't going to help if something came of this night. She was going to wash and sleep.

* * *

Herian resisted the urge to pace as she waited for Ned in the courtyard, she had decided to wear her Witchers gear again today. Her wolf mask still caused staring but at this point she didn't care. The sun was high in the sky and the heat was beating down.

Distantly the Witcher heard the clip clop of hooves on tilled road, her heart jumped. Sorting out the mess that was Kings Landing was driving her slowly crazy, she was more than ready to fall into bodyguard duty.

Clip, clop, clip, clop. Slowly the procession of House Stark filed into the courtyard. Herian saw Ned, Jon beside him, then Ayra and Sansa together on a horse behind. Thankfully no other Starks, the elf sighed in relief, then straightened up and smiled. They couldn't see the smile, but Ned and Jon would know.

"Hail." Herian have a small nod of her head, leading into a tight bow.

Stone passing overhead, three steeds passed the stony walls of the courtyard and passed into the grassy enclosure. The lord of the North faced front, gaze at the ground in front of him. Reins in hand, both men of the Stark house turned their heads and gazed at the sound of the voice. Swiftly, the two spotted Herian. The woman's attire made her stick out like sore thumb, though both knew that she cared little for such things. Jon smiled, the sight of his old teacher was a welcome one.

As for Ned, the Lord spared not a bit of a smirk. Instead, the rumor's of the man's icy exterior pressed onward. He held a cold, harsh gaze, like a sheet of ice that had been dragged all the way from the North on horseback.

Gazing at her, the Stark offered a small nod, "Herian."

"It has been sometime," he greeted with a stern tone, "How has it been, I would assume things have been rather quiet in my absence?."

Herian smiled. "What would be one way to put it my Thane. Your King has insisted on a Tournament, despite my efforts. I have been working on ways to help with the Kingdoms debt, but there is very little that can be done swiftly. Beyond that I have been reading and exploring, setting up a few of my own connections. I will report in detail after you are settled."

"Very good." Ned nodded, "Very good."

The Stark paced deeper into the courtyard, atop his steed. Since his departure, Ned had spent a few days musing over what kind of conundrum Robert might have come up with without him there to rein him in. A tournament in particular seemed right up the King's alley. The Baratheon was one for the spectacles. The large sum of drink that would be there wouldn't hurt either, that was for certain. Ned shook his head. He should have expected this.

Behind the lord, Ned felt his son shake his head. Anyone who had once been to one of Robert's parties could have seen this coming more than a legion's width away. The party back in the North was just an appetizer for now, much to the Kingdom's woe.

The Stark raised a pair of fingers and rubbed his forehead. He let out a deep sigh, one of weariness and irritation, "It seems I too will have to have some words with our shared Lord, but that could be for later."

"For now, accommodations are due for me and my young, then you may tell me all of which happened in my absence, in detail. Does that sound agreeable?"

"Yes, this way." She gestured toward the gates, as the Starks dismounted, and servants came to collect their things to be carried up for them.

They entered into the Keeps warm sun bleached walls, and got no further than the great hall before the King and his escort came up to meet them mid way through with a great grin on his face.

Herian resisted the urge to sigh, nothing could ever be simple could it? She fell into step beside Jon and Sansa, Ayra half hid behind the Witchers cloak.

The Stark looked ahead at the men in front of him, all of which he recognized.

Of the trio, there was the King. The bearded Lord wore fancy, Kingly attire with a gold trim and a crown atop his head. A large smile broke out on Robert's face. For a moment, the King looked almost ready to leap forward and hug his old friend. At his side, Ned spared a glance at the two men accompanying the King. On the right stood a tall, handsome man with blonde hair and a shaven face. His clothes consisted of a set of gold and silver armor, expertly crafted with the insignia of a crown at the very center of the chestplate. At the tail end of the Stark's group, Herian rolled her eyes. She could smell the stench of pride coming off the man. He looked at Ned with a bit of respect the amount of pride he had in himself? It was worth more than all of the gold and silver that was woven into his armor.

To the left stood another man, this one far older than anyone aside from the Witcher herself. Grey haired with wrinkles across his skin, the older of the three stood with a stern and respected expression. Both eyes told of much experience in battle, especially with the blade he wore on his belt. He wore the armor of the King's Guard, as well as a helmet that was tucked beneath one of his arms.

Taking a look at all who stood before him, Ned bowed his head with respect. First the King and then his companions, the Stark greeted the trio with a slight nod.

"My King." he spoke, "Sir Lannister, Sir Barristan. Greetings."

Robert pulled Ned into a hug. "I'm sorry about Cat, word will be released after the games."

"Of course," the Stark replied, "My thanks. It has been hard, for all of us."

Raising his arms, Ned returned the embrace with gusto. Both men held onto each other for a good moment or two. The impact of such a loss meant more to the men than any of those present. Their history, their time shared, and the pain shared amongst them. It was more than some could understand, and for that, both knew.

Before long and with a sigh, both men broke their embrace and took a step back. Ned returned near his children while Robert held him at arm's length, hands grasping the Lord's shoulders. He offered the man a reassuring smile.

"Ah, but how was your trip? I hope there was no troubles for you on the way here."

Ned shook his head, "None more than normal. It was a rather calm. Good chance to clear my head of any cobwebs."

A deep, joyful chuckle shook the King, "Ah, wonderful, wonderful. Cobwebs are much of a bother. Be it still, you're here now! My house is open to you! Come, kick your boots off, rest for now. There is much for us to do!"

Ned shook his head. Having a heads up from Herian, the Stark let loose a small chuckle and rolled his shoulders, "I expected nothing less, My King."

"Speaking of things to do your Majesty." Herian said softly but firmly. "My Thane had his children need to get settled, I am sure there will be plenty of time to gossip later."

The King blinked. Looking past his old friend, the lord took a gander at the rest of Ned's group. Like the crack of a hammer against a plate of armor, realization smacked the King hard across his fuzzy face.

Robert clapped his hands together with a resounding smack, "Ah, of course. It must have been a long trek for all of you. Please, excuse us. You must be tried after all of that."

"Indeed."

To the King's side, Jamie Lannister stepped forward. The gold plated lad placed himself next to the Lord, much to the ire of elder gentlemen. Be that as it was, the King took little notice of the action and instead turned his gaze to his brother in law.

"Rest would seem fitting. After all, weren't you planning a dinner tonight, my liege?" he spoke, tone as prideful and high brow as his armor appeared.

Blinking once more, Robert let loose another wide grin and nodded, "Ah! Of course. That I am. Ned! You and your family should come! I'm sure you all must be famished. Allow me to treat you all! It's the least I can do."

Amongst the Starks, Ned spared a glance over his shoulder. Of his three children, none spoke a word. Jon, Arya, and Sansa remained where they stood, behind their father with their mouths sealed shut. Behind them, Herian met her Thane's gaze, and shot him but a look.

"Of course," Ned mused, "We'd be honored."

Throughout the King's hall, Robert's laughter echoed out. The King laughed deeply, the joyous bouts echoing for all the hear. Jamie spared the Lord a small glance yet said nothing, as did the elder of the three.

"Fantastic! I'll make sure all who are present are aware!"

Herian suppressed a groan, already turning her mind to ways to avoid going or hiding.

With that the two parties parted and Herian resumed leading the Starks to their apartments. The Tower of the Hand, may of the Stark men were already settled and nodded to their Lord in passing.

As they walked with Herian out front Ned couldn't help but notice that Herian was walking differently. Usually her gait was purposeful and long, no wasted energy and as silent as a cat. Now however, there was a slight shift, now when she moved her cloak billowed around her. Inhuman grace flowed through her as she moved, maybe it was the change of armour. Maybe it was something else. For a moment he wondered what it would be like to see her in a light dress. How would she look them, would it fall in gentle waves? Or flow out behind her? Lord Stark shook his head, such strange thoughts these were.

Herian pushed open one last large door and showed them a large open living area, a round table large enough for them all to sit comfortably sat in the middle of the room. The western wall was an open balcony the evening sun lite the room in a warm golden glow.

"Arya, Sansa, Jon, your rooms are through the door over there." She pointed to the eastern wall. "I'm sure you can figure out whos is whos. My Thane your rooms and office lie through that door." She pointed to the north wall, where the last door lay.

"Go and get unpacked." Ned told his children.

They departed and started to talk softly among themselves. Ned and his bodyguard made there way up to his rooms.

Once the door was closed behind them, Herian pushed her hood back and pulled off her mask, crossing the room to set it with her other gear. She rubbed her eyes and sighed, where to begin.

"The Kingdom is six million in debt, I have asked the Kings brother to look into new trading partners. I managed to get the winnings for the Tournament halved, and have some gold set aside for an increase in the guard. Beyond that I have been endeavoring to understand this place." She gestured at his desk, it was covered with historical tomes. "I also found a small group of men one night in a tavern that knew the late Hand. They said he was in good health though agitated last them saw him. I haven't looked into the palaces records as of yet, to many eyes for me to visit them in the day. And not enough time at night." With a sigh she walked over and sat on the end of the large untouched bed in the middle of the room. The Dark elf folded an arm over her chest, resting the other elbow on it's hand, using the other to rub her temple.

Ned raised a brow, "You? Not have enough time at night? Color me surprised. With all the stories you've told me, you often have more time than anything else."

Placing his things off to the side, the Stark removed his cloak and rolled his shoulders, "In fact, you once spoke that if you had anymore time to waste about, you might go madder than someone you know, some god or something. Still, that is good to know. Agitated fits the old man well, he was often irritated by one thing or another. Robert and I could tell stories of all the times that our old keeper had found something to groan about. Indeed, the fact that his temper was known to the commonwealth is a testament to what he was like."

Across the room, Ned crossed both arms behind his back and let out a small sigh. Lord Arryan had the unfortunate job of holding the realm together while his King drank, ate, and fucked his nights away. It wasn't hard in the slightest to imagine why the old man would be irritated at any time of the week. The thought brought a frown to the Stark's face. Now that he had returned, that would be his job from now own. Keeping several Kingdoms from falling from beneath themselves as the King partied his nights away.

"How delightful." he muttered with a grumble.

Herian chuckled. "Daedra Prince not God, and his name is Sheogorath. And I too need to sleep sometimes, plus my night vision spells and potions don't lend themselves to reading." She straightened up, but was still very tired. The elf smiled softly at him. "Though I must admit I am very happy to see you."

"By your word, I suspect the only reason someone like that would refer to themselves as a 'Prince' and not a god would be because they're somewhat humble," Ned countered, "But, yes, its good to see you as well."

As somber and painful as the funeral at Winterfell had been, the Stark had grown to miss the Witcher. While home, Ned had found himself constantly bogged down with either servants asking him if he was alright, or others offering a pathetic display of sorrow in his name. It had been so irritating. So much so that the lord could have pictured Herian's face scoffing at the empty offerings of pity that were thrown his way.

Painful was a dreadfully accurate way to describe the entire ordeal, and in more ways than one. By the end of it, Ned and his young had been almost scratching at the walls to escape, even if it meant returning to someone such as King's Landings. The soon to be present headaches almost felt like a relief in hindsight, as odd as that sounded.

Though having now arrived, Ned almost felt like second guessing that decision.

Herian chuckled and stood up away from the bed. "We also sometimes call them Lords, but they are anything but humble." she tapped her chin. "I suppose one could compare them slightly to your Gods, though your Gods are more like my, Nine Divines, which also go by the name of Aedra." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and bit her tongue to avoid asking the stupid question. Instead she decided to offer a distraction, she strode across the room and threw back the curtains leading to the balcony. "The view is quite lovely over here."

"I would hope so."

The sun shined through the window, bathing the room in its light. Ned stepped forward and stopped, shoulder to shoulder with the elf, "The North is my home, but King's Landing is the center of the Kingdoms for a reason. After everything that had gone into keeping this realm from ending up a pile of ash and stone, a pleasant view is the least it could do."

Ned followed her gaze."It might have poor supports at the moment, but isn't rotten just yet. Robert can be a brash fool to be certain, but he can know reason. We might have to drill it into his thick skull, and time will be spent doing such, but it can be done. I'm sure of it."

"I've been working on that, on the way here I told him a rather unpleasant story that mirrored him on purpose. The subject of the tale was a fair bit farther gone than him, but I think he noticed the similarities." Herian blushed slightly. "And I may have uhhh," she swallowed thickly. "Yelled at him a rather lot when I found out his crown was six million in debt." she smiled sheepishly. "I probably shouldn't have done that."

"Really? You suppose?" Ned deadpanned.

Raising his hand, the Stark rubbed his eyes with a sigh, "Well, be grateful that you did that whilst substituting my position. At any other time, such an outburst would have ended you with your head on a pike. That would not have been a pleasant sight to see upon my return."

Of course, Ned couldn't imagine Herian actually getting in over her head to the point where a pike would be in her future. She was far too clever for that, and sneaky too. If anything, if the Witcher had gotten that out of line, she would have emerged from the shadows and waved the Stark down before he even reached the royal courtyard. Would have been much more embarrassing mind you, but the fewer decapitations the been better.

"Either way," he sighed, "It might be wise to keep low for a time now. I'll have a talk with the King, bring up what you said. If I can make the fool see reason, then any anger he might have toward you very well diminish. Can't be too angry if he knows what you said was right."

Herian blushed brightly and looked away. "I may have also, discarded my mask and did a partial shift. I think I scared at least some sense into him. He started to address me differently because I am female and I kind of lost it. I made my opinion of him very clear, and forbade him whores. They're expensive, but I did tell him to fuck his blonde wife so that will either help or hinder us in the long run. I can't tell yet. And ordered him to actually attend his small council meetings, as he wasn't before now." She decided her boots were very interesting. While mentally kicking herself, she wasn't a political person. Retelling it now, she felt very foolish and childish.

For a moment or so, Ned said nothing. Against the sun's rays and the silence, the Stark slowly drew a hand down the front of his face. His fingers rubbed up against the rough patch of skin, brushing leather against worn, torn ice. The chilled exterior of the Lord of the North remained as it was, but the tired expression said quite a lot.

"Well then," he muttered, "That is surely something."

A deep sigh escaped the Lord, both his shoulder slumping, "I'm rather surprised that he remained as calm as he was back in the hall now. At the least, he might have tried to glare holes into your forehead with knives."

"Still, you weren't wrong." he noted, "Robert should be at those meetings. If we're going to start applying patches to this kingdom, we're gonna have to get him along to listen."

Glancing up the ceiling, Ned groaned, "Gods, I hope I won't have to drag his sorry ass from his bed one of these days. Drunk off his ass, naked as the day he was born. That is the last thing I pictured when I agreed to this position."

Herian snorted. "I sure hope not, I also told him to lay off the wine. I'm sorry to have ripped into him like that. But he needed to hear it, and I think the only reason I haven't had any fallout of my yelling was that I think I scared him enough for him to at least respect me." She walked out onto the balcony and turned to him. "I have just been angry with him since he came to Winterfell. He is almost everything I hate in a man." She shook her head swiftly sending her red locks flying, and flexed her fingers. Like she wanted to rip into something. "I understand that he is your friend, but.." she sighed and the tension fell from her shoulders. "Sorry, you have plenty to worry about, you don't need to hear my issues as well. I am very good at silently glaring. I shall try to keep my interactions with him to only that now."

"That would be wise." Ned noted, "Now that I have returned, the only thing that can offer you protection, politically of course, is the fact that you're aligned with me. Give the King any other reasons and he may go over my head and try something. Of course the last thing we need is some dead guards who decided to try something as foolish as that."

Ned crossed his arms behind his back. "Be that as it is though, I would not object to the occasional bit of criticism towards the King. Perhaps whispered in my ear, could be useful during the meetings, just to give our lord something to think about while discussing things."

Despite what one thought otherwise, a good boot to a King's ass couldn't be avoided, or shouldn't be in some cases. No one's position, regardless how high or low they may be could save them from an act of pure stupidity. If a lord or lady has their head up a goblet of wine or even their own behind, a well placed boot would be the best way to dislodge it. Herian's words, no matter how harsh, may very well have been truthful. Though in the presence of the council, Ned would do his very best to tone down the criticism. To berate someone is one thing, but to insult him among his peers is a whole other matter all together.

Herian shrugged."Unless he does something stupid, I doubt I will have much to say. We should however figure out our own cues. I need a way to tell you if someone is lying while they are talking to you, and you need to figuratively. Be able to hold my leash." Herian turned away from him, wrapped her arms around her chest. Memories of men like the King, stirring up pain that was usually cast to the depths of her being. "I mean, after all I am a weapon."

"What do you mean by that?" Ned asked.

"Which part?" She turned to him momentarily confused, blinking.

"You are a weapon?" Ned had never heard a person refer to themselves so degradingly.

"Witchers are made to fight monsters. As a werewolf," The elf sighed, what good was she if not a tool for others? "I wasn't given a Witchers mutations, but I was still trained the same way. Given the same purpose. I may pick my contracts, but the one with the coin has the power. As a Ranger, there was no coin, generally. I gave no one my word or loyalty. But I 'bent the knee' to my Grandmother and those under her control. They would point, and I would go. I've always had someone holding power over me, a weapon for their use." She turned back away from him, she hated this place. She shouldn't have said anything, these weren't questions she wanted to answer. Herian shook her head and tried to refocus herself, it didn't work. "I don't mind, there is something comforting with being told what to do. After all, the how to do it has always been my choice. It really is no different from your oath to your crown, we are just tools for our betters to use."

"You still have the power to say no." Ned commented softly.

"Huff, depends how hungry one is." The wind picked up and lifted Herians' red locks to dance in the breeze.

Ned wondered just what kind of life this elf had led. He could however understand where she got this view. The bitterness was understandable, to be forever bound to those who would pay for her skills.

"Don't misunderstand, I chose to be a Witcher and I enjoy the work. I just have no illusions about what I do." Herian looked out to the sea, the waves were soft in dusks glow.

The scent of the sea fluttered as the wind blew. Thick of salt, rough, and rather dry. Compared to the North, the ocean could not be anymore different. It was warm, cool to the skin, not burning like the rough touch of the cold storms that often shook the land. Ned glanced out at the sea, his eyes narrowed as the salt rubbed against his gaze.

"Fair enough." he mused, "It is not a hard view to understand. A job is always easier to do when you are skilled in it, and even more so when you enjoy the work."

In his years, the Stark recalled many times he met men who spent their days doing quite the questionable acts. Often it could be wondered how they could do such things and not picture themselves in the same positions. But one look at their faces, and Ned had no doubt in his mind. A smile could be forged, a grin faked. But the look in the eyes is not so easily hidden. The better you enjoy something, the easier it becomes, regardless of how much blood stains the ground once done.

Herian shrugged, still turned away from him. "It's been strange here, it makes me uneasy. What is it like for you? How do you go months, if not years. In this," she wave at the sea and castle. "Strangeness? I am used to killing something at least once a week, usually a whole lot more. Here it's all words and finery. How can you living with the lying? I don't frankly understand how your King became as he is. How do you people live so," she threw her hands up searching for the word. "Tamely? Do your skills not dull? What happens when you are threatened? I don't understand it." Her confusion made her sound very young.

As the wind passed overhead, Ned shifted, now crossing his arms over his chest. For but a few moments, the Stark said nothing. The tall, rough expression across his face was stone, with a gaze staring ahead, lost in the sea as it shifted back and forth.

Then, there came a sigh, "To dull, to soften. You make it sound as if this peace, this tranquil kingdom is all there is to us. As if we've forgotten the blood, the drumbeats of war. The sight of arrows, volleys of them falling through the air at a legion of men on horseback."

Ned lowered his gaze, "We don't. To me, the King. We never forget. You are right to call it a lie. It is a farce, even behind these walls, you can't trust it nearly as far as your eyes can see it. Once something happens once, it's hard to imagine it never happening again. Blood on the streets, men upon the rafters with bows and arrows notched. Every night, it's like a vision, a possibility that no one from that time ever wishes to see again.."

"When the war came about, when Robert led us against a King who had lost his mind in a fit of insanity, none of us knew what was going to happen. We were simply prepared for it, regardless of what it meant. And if that time comes again, we all must be prepared for it. Even the King, who might seem as if he has grown beyond his years. Large, without a care in the world, is always on guard. Its why he chose me, or so I believe."

The Stark sighed once more, "Do you know of a particular saying, one prevalent in my house?"

"Winter is coming. Though your family seems to be the only one that believes that. In my homeland, not my birthland." she pulled back her lips and snarled. "We get. A Witcher never does anything without coin. Though it's we Witchers that can change the tide of war. My Kind, Werewolves, it was illegal to even be one till my Grandmother launched her campaign against the Thamlor. Now we get. "Summon a Hound, when you need a massacre, summon a Ranger when you need a Hero. And the Nine protect you if they are the same person." She shook her head. "Sorry, sayings make me bitter."

"It is fine." Ned replied, "For us, the phrase means much."

"In the North, the Winter hits our home the hardest. The cold is always there, regardless of the time of year. But when the days grow shorter and the chills grow even harsher, the North can seem like the most hellish of places. For that reason, we always remember the coming Winter. The cold is always coming, always slowly on its way back to hound us again. Others may not know it, but the Starks are always ready for the cold."

Ned shook his head, "To us though, there is always more. More than just the cold. Men who seek to harm us. Women who seek to take advantage of us. Creatures that aim to slaughter us as prey, and storms that would so easily send us tumbling. No matter what, who, or where it is, there is always something coming."

"That is how we do not grow dull, how we don't let this peace go to our heads. As much as we'd adore a time where nothing could go wrong, it is simply not to be. My father told me this, and his father before him. Winter takes many forms, be in an army of steel and swords, or the cold touch of the world itself, bearing down on us for no reason but that we are there."

"Winter is always coming, and the Starks will always be there to meet it."

Herian turned to him, then leaned back on the stone rail. She thought back onto Neds handling of Ice, and had to fight down a purr. "I understand. Though I would very much like to test that about your skills growing dull." She chuckled and did purr, a quiet sound. "I think that would be great fun."

Ned raised a brow, "So you say."

This wasn't the first time Ned had gotten such a request from the Witcher. Back in the North, Herian did well to hide it, but the writing was often on the wall. A chance to spare with someone, to test her metal against someone who could actually hold a sword? The days she spent with Jon were one thing, but finding someone foolish enough to take the elf up on her offer wasn't the easiest thing in the North. The chilly weather was enough of a death sentence, and the threat of a blade to their neck would only make things worse.

Still, Ned felt a tad bit surprised that Herian would be so forward about it now. Had the politics of the King's court gotten to her that much? Course, it was hard to blame her. Having to deal with such dull drab day in and day out would make the choice of having a sword in your hand seem like a vacation half the time.

Herian moved away from the rail, her mannerisms taking a complete one-eighty. Her stride lengthened and she walked with grace, rather than her normal swift gate. "So you won't enjoy it?" she smiled and purred, hands clasped behind her back. "I understand it is not what you lot do for fun."

Despite his cold expression, the Stark rolled his eyes. To describe fun, someone would often say that heading to a pub, entertaining guests in their home, or even going hunting could fit the term. But going toe to toe with someone, blades drawn and sparks flashing across the ground with each step possibly being your last? That was often nowhere near the top of what fun would be considered in King's Landing, nor the North.

Regardless, Ned spared the elf a glance. He noticed the tone she used, and the smile on her face. It was an uncommon one, especially for the wise, if a bit snarky Witcher.

"Its not that I wouldn't, but you seem a bit too itchy for the chance." he noted, "Something happen besides berating the King, or has this place truly drove you to that end with its boredom?"

Herian laughed, a light musical sound. "Eh, maybe a bit. Less boredom, more I have a very low tolerance for bullshitting." She stepped to the side, still facing him in a near dance like movement. "More I remember your handling of Ice, teaching Jon is all well and nice. But I long for a fight that will get the blood flowing." The elf moved away from him again, gracefully limber steps. "And to me, combat is like a dance. Half pleasure, half exercise." She swept up to him faster than he could follow, and purred out less than a hands width away from him. "I have yet to see you fight, I would treasure that insight into your character." She was gone swinging away before he could respond, coming back to rest an appropriate distance away.

The Stark, head of his house and Lord of the North, blinked. The large lord stood where he was for a moment, feet unmoving from the ground. They felt frozen, as if he was back in the north and had mistakenly stepped in a shallow puddle that had chilled over before he had the chance to notice. Instead of speaking, Ned simply stared at the elf, half befuddled at her choice of words, but not dense enough to miss the subtle poke that had been sent his way. It was slight, though more so due to the elf's mood, but one so easily noticed. To ignore this would require a person to be so head deep in another matter that they barely turned their head to look at her, or their skull really was filled to the brim with bricks.

Shaking his head, the Stark wished to sigh.

She was not going to give up on this. It was as obvious as the day was bright. The way she looked at him, sat at a reasonable distance to give him space. Even her tone was a rather easy give away. Ned brought his hand to forehead and gave it a rub.

"I thought I had been rather open with you so far," he mused, "Do you really require that much of look at my character? I thought the tales of my icy skin were but cracks at my expense."

The Dark elf giggled, her slightly Khajiit ears flicked forward slightly. "True, mostly they are. But had I not ears that could pick up your heart rate you would be very hard to read." she resumed to dancing steps. "Hmmm." She let a deep purr rumbled up from her chest, watching her Lord with sharp eyes. A hand came from behind her back to reach out to the side, she created a wave with it, from the tips of her fingers to her shoulder. A very precise use of muscle. "Words, actions, they are but one aspect." she drew her arm back to her side. "But I find, combat, be it hand to hand, or sword play. Now that shows true character." She stepped closer again and purred lowly. "When your opponent hesitates," she licked her lips. "Strikes, feints, a spin, a step. This is a true art, any master can tell the make of the man by how he fights." The lasts words were all but whispered in his ear. "The truth is my Thane, is that we don't really know each other. I know aspects of you, and you know less of me" Again she was gone, with a purr and a red lock tickling his cheek.

Herian felt an odd energy filling her, she felt playful. Not like her usual, playing with her food playful. This came from being presented a challenge, or perhaps a hope of one.

Ned stroked his chin.

To read a person is like reading a book. There are so many chapters, pages, descriptions to a single book that it is hard to settle on just one of them. To someone, the book could be an adventure, to another, a mystery with just the slightest hint of pain to it. The same could be said when finding out more concerning a close friend. So many twist and turns, pages beneath pages, hints between the lines and more. It boggled the mind. Yet Ned frowned. As much as he might not want to admit it, the elf had quite the point. How much did either of them, truly know about the other?

The Stark shifted his feet. He took a step forward.

At times, Herian could be like an open book. Lay mention one thing about her past, family, or job, and the elf could go on for hours. She was like a storyteller, unravelling tales to astonish even the most sceptical of minds. Things could get odd at times, and rather personal, but the Witcher was not one for keeping secrets. Or at least, that was what he thought.

"Fair enough," he noted, "You say we know little of each other, and while we could spend a day simply talking, you now give me the distinct feeling that it wouldn't put but a dent in what is hidden."

Herian grinned and shrugged. "Several days would be needed at least, and that would not be counting working through a few, uh, issues I know you haven't addressed."

Contrast to his icy exterior, the Lord of the North turned his gaze to the side. A gulp escaped down his throat, "Would it do me any good to deny such provocations and claim you're just looking too deeply into something that isn't there?"

The Dark elf walked back to him coming back within arms distance. "Have you already forgotten that I can't be lied too? If I were to describe a battle scene, perhaps that of a war. Your heart rate would pick up, you would tense up, your focus would shatter. You've done it before, I just didn't comment on it out of respect for your privacy. But that WILL get you into trouble someday. Warriors particularly those who only fight in wars all have these mental wounds. You haven't addressed these, you've just been avoiding them. I would bet my best sword that Lady Stark had to calm you from many a nightmare." she spoke softly, picking her tone carefully. "It is something we are both familiar with, and as good a place to start as any."

He could picture the scene she would paint. A tattoo began rumbling, a soft pounding beneath his chest. Like a drum, softly stuck over and over again. As seconds passed, the pace grew. The thuds grew louder. Inside his chest, Ned could feel his heart speed up, striking against his ribcage. It clawed against his bones, screaming to be let out. The Stark lifted his hand over chest. Against the thick layer of cloth and even his leather glove, he felt it. Like explosions of wildfire being let loose one at a time.

Sweat dripped down his forehead. The weather in King's landing was fair, not too bad, but it was a far cry away from the chills up in the North. To anyone who lived up there, it might have felt downright warm in comparison.

Though Ned had a feeling that the weather had little to do with it.

"Pain is often the easier of things to talk about. But in lives like ours there could be so many different topics to be had. From you alone, I'm sure someone could write an entire novel or two based on everything you've been through."

It was a guess, Herian had told Ned just brief instances when it concerned her life. At most the Stark remembered her speaking much about her family and her position, but of her past itself? That was still a mystery for the most part.

Yet those eyes, blood red. So sharp and fierce. They looked about ready to draw blood and spill quite a bit about both of them, no matter the topic.

"Where would I possibly begin?"

She sighed. "I'll let it slip this once, but you do need to talk about your scars." She reached out and ghosted her fingers over the hand he had pressed to his chest. "I am not sure really, I would much more readily sing you ballads of my homelands, both of them. I have stories of monsters, demons, family feuds and curses. A bard friend of mine has had no end of fun turning my life into fine tales. Though he would often gripe and complain about my lack of a romantic interest in them." A smile touched her lips as she thought of Dandelion.

"A craftsmen of tales, is he?" The Stark let loose a small chuckle, "I know of such things. You should have seen my comrades a few years ago. As dreadful as the time was, we still managed a few moments of the day to sit around a table, goblets in hand, and spoke tales of our achievements in a vain attempt to outdo the other."

It had been so long since those days. The grief, the pain of the battle had taken root in each of their hearts. Some of them were already gone. Yet as far back as he could remember, Ned could still recall Robert's drunken tales of his victories on the battlefield. As large as the old King had become in his age, the Stark could not forget the time where his ego was the largest thing on him. Even that gut paled in comparison to the webs of words he could spin.

Even if they had about as much truth in them as the meat did vegetables.

Herian smiled. "Well he would take the tales from a small party of Witchers and turn them into great fairy tales with some of the best poetry available." She stepped away and took on a very posh, slightly silly accent. "After all Julian Alfred Pankratz viscount de Lettenhove," She bowed, right hand on her chest, left straight out level with her shoulder, left foot back. "Would never falsely events!" Grinning she straightened. "Or as friends would call him, Dandelion, twister of the truth. Creator of very tall tales." Her voice glowed with mirth. "Unrelated, he also happened to be a very good teacher."

Such an extravagant title. Ned couldn't resist but a small chuckle.

"Seems fitting. Some of the best teachers often know how to twist words the best. It would be the best way to know how to keep their bothersome student from dozing off. A tale or two is always welcome when a hint of truth of layered within."

Memories of his own teachers took the Stark back. It felt so long ago, before the bloodshed he and his brother would spend hours in the courtyard, practising. As loathed as he would be to admit it, those memories were filled with quite a few shots of Ned looking up at his brother while laying on the ground. It wasn't a good time for his pride, that was for certain. Made it almost hard to believe that such a boy could become the man he was today.

Surely it it wasn't for his-

Ned shook his head, "Still, I could only imagine what such a man could teach you with such wondrous tales underneath his belt."

Herian smiled and rubbed the back of her head coley. "To sing and compose mostly. I learned to play both lute and fiddle from my aunt. But she rarely sang in common, so when I met Dandelion I begged him to teach me. I am still rubbish at composing though, I just sing what others have made." She tapped her chin with a finger. "Though I don't sing most of his tales, he has an awful habit of making himself the hero of them."

"He likes the credit, does he?" the Stark mused.

Why did that sound so familiar. Ned scratched the scruff of his chin with a grunt. For some reason he was sure he knew of someone who was far too similar to that for their own good. Hell, if they were still around, the poor bastard must have been stupidly lucky as well that his boasting hadn't gotten himself challenged to more duels than he could have ever hoped to fill.

"Well, everyone wants to be the hero of the story, so I cannot fault him there," Ned mused with a shrug, "Still, least he bothered to give you a part in them, though I can see why you'd not like to be pushed to the sides in that instance."

If there was one thing Ned was sure of, it was that Herian was not the type of person who liked to be ignored. Well, unless she didn't want to be noticed. Yet the clear memory of her and Jon walking up after he and the King had returned from their hunt, holding a deer in her arms as she did was as bright as the sun.

Herian could enjoy the attention, if it was due to her at least.

"It wasn't so much that, but it has been an endless source of amusement for the family when someone stumbles onto some random stranger. Who recognizes us from Dandelions tales. It happens to my poor uncle often, though it never fails to make the rest of us laugh. Or watching Dandelion squirm when he has been found out." The young woman giggled, eyes shining with mirth. "It's a good thing my Uncle doesn't have many friends, or he might of strangled Dandelion for his, misrepresentation of the facts. Someday I shall have to tell you about the time when Dandelion and Ciri went missing and my uncle had to retrace there footsteps."

As the cool air of the ocean fluttered by, Ned almost had the urge to shake his head. Now that was a familiar feeling. If he had a piece of gold for every time he had the urge to wrap his fingers around the neck of Robert, then the Stark could have payed off the Kingdom's debt all by himself by now. The Banks would overflow with coin, much to their delight.

"That poor man, I can only imagine the grief he has to deal with on a daily basis with such antics," the Stark mused, "Still, one must be quite a good friend otherwise, you're family does not seem like the type to put up with such bothersome antics otherwise."

Least, that is what Ned could assume from Herian. Her explosive retort to the King and that bloody bag with the head of a certain monster told the Stark more than he ever wanted to know concerning the elf. She was not one to be irritated lightly, that is for sure.

Herian just smiled and looked away. "One of the best." She sighed, her high of destressing slowly fading, as she fell back into her usual calm state. "My family may be a bunch of hard assed warriors of one flavor or another. But we are picky with friends and protect them fiercely."

Those words. Ned tried not to smile. It was contagious. Throughout the conversation, the Stark chuckled, smiled, and shook his head. Those words reminded him of his house, the families Winterfell had united back in the North.

In Westeros, allies often can be the difference between ruling the land and having your head chopped off and fed to a group of hungry hounds. The more houses you had at your back, the more men for an army. Though more often than not, armies are not what wins wars. Men could be bought, hired to fight as if it was simply another job. Yet to truly win a war, there had to be unity, a bond between men with a vow.

In the North, like the Direwolves the Starks named their house after, they were a pack. A group that fought side by side without question. When the King of the North called, they answered without question. That is why the North is strong, why it has held regardless of the chills of Winter drawing ever closer with each passing day.

"That's good to hear," Ned replied, "Here, such dear friends can be hard to come by."

"I've noticed. It doesn't help that I have to hide my skin," she turned her face to the sea breeze, her eyes closed lazy, the duck glow warming her ashen skin. Softly she spoke. "I doubt many would be able to comprehend how good this feels after a day under a mask. Sometimes it takes all of my willpower not to strip and dance on this balcony. I am used to and at ease in armour, but sometimes the kiss of the wind and sun..." she trailed off, lost in the pleasure of the sun.

Shifting his gaze downward, the Stark spared the elf a small glance. For a moment, he flinched but swiftly shook the thought from his head. The calm tone, how she glanced out at the sea with a content look on her face. Gone was the mirth and playfulness in the elf's eyes. Herian glanced out at the ocean with a smile, a gentle smirk across her lips as the air caressed her skin. That hood must have get irritating, no wonder she liked to mess around so often.

Inwardly, a sigh escaped the Lord. If he could recall, his son Jon had unofficially become her student recently. The poor boy, he had no idea the kind of fate that awaited him now. Jon was stern, and ripe for the picking when it came to her antics. The elf had much to teach him, things the Head of their house couldn't be bothered to even try and understand.

And if he knew his son, then the headaches would make it all the harder.

Well, could have been worse. At least Jon hadn't followed his uncle up to the Wall. Lord knows what could have been waiting for the poor lad atop that honor-bound, icy fortress.

Herian shook her head and sighed, her eyes regaining that weary look that came with being out of her element.

"You should change, then we should get going." She swept back into the room, retrieving her blade and her Mask of the Tribunal, she hadn't worn it yet. The wolf mask was nice, but this was one lighter and was modelled after her features. Then she pulled her hood up and rearranged her blood red locks to flow down her chest comfortably. Reaching over she set her fingers on the Ice Blade of the Monarch. Its enchantments and spirit leaped up, its magic still glowed with her Grandmothers power.

"Shit." The Dark elf muttered under her breath, her Grandmother had a talent for empower her tools. The Blade would need to be re-attuned before Jon would be able to use it. With a single motion she snatched it up off the table spun and flourished it. The massive ebony claymore was very heavy, but it was also an artifact, so lighter than a normal claymore. She raised it like she would her MUCH lighter Witcher blades and fell into her stance. She called up her magic and shunted it through the sword, the enchantments blazed to life and frost flowed from the blade.

The magic in the blade rose up in revolt and attacked her. Lips set in a grim line, she absorbed the magic till the blade quieted. Herian felt like she was vibrating, Grandmothers magic would always be beyond her, there was no other way to describe it. The Witcher had a feeling she would be metabolizing the magic for a LONG while.

"There." She said with a smile, picking up a black cloth she wrapped it around the blade leaving the hilt free. With a flick she set the blade to rest on her shoulder. "If it's alright with you, I need to work on this." She tapped the pommel of the blade with her finger. "I haven't had time, to attune it. But I want to before I give it to Jon."

"What is that?" Ned asked, he hadn't noticed it when they had come in, but the he had had other things on his mind. The sword was easily the length of Ice, though much thinner in width.

"The Ice Blade of the Monarch. I requested it from my Grandmother for Jon. I felt it would suit him." Herian shrugged, she would have jumped through many a hop for a blade like this when she started out.

"What do you mean attune?" Ned asked striding into the room to change, before the elf distracted him again.

"Its an artifact, they have mind of there own. The last person to held it was my Grandmother so it is attuned to her magic. I just removed most of it, now I need to re-attune it to Jon, so it will let him use it. I can handle the war of energies, but your son would be a statue in moments. Once I am done, it should be loyal to him. The standard stuff, he loses it, it will come back, and give him control over activating the enchantments."

Ned pulled on a new tunic. "Are you sure it is wise? To give him such a gift?"

"Aye. He is my student, I will do everything in my power to make sure he will succeed in life. Giving him a blade is the least I could do, it will keep him safe and give anyone who tries to steal it a very serious case of frostbite. That said, I wouldn't recommend touching any of my things without permission."

"Understood." Ned, was never ever going to touch her things, he liked his fingers as they were.

"Also, if it is alright with you. I will sit on the sidelines tonight. I need to work on this sword, I doubt anyone will try anything tonight and I will be able to smell everything without hovering."

"I have no problem with that, I image you have a few things you have been putting off doing. As you have been too busy working for me." Ned said understanding.

"Many things." Herian said softly

When he was finished, now in a nice fresh garb, they left to find Jon and Arya waiting for them in the dining room.

The children's eyes popped out of their skulls when the set their eyes on the sword.

Herian strode up to Jon and said. "Put your finger on the pommel." With her free hand she pulled a small knife from her belt.

Just before Jon set a finger on the dark blue blade she cut the flat very slightly. "Draw a line of blood, then let several drops fall on the pommel."

Jon felt the blade hum as he touched it, he felt its power rise up and brush against him. He could also feel Herian alien magic, holding the blade back. When he had finished he sucked this finger to stop it bleeding. "That good?"

"Yes." Herian said her voice a little strained, she had been unprepared for the Blade leaping out at him.

Sansa came out, her hair had been redone and was now wearing a fresh new dress.

"Do you remember the way my Thane?" Herian falling back into stiff formality.

High in the tower and across the stone beneath their feet, Ned crossed his arms behind his back. The Stark nodded his head. Her turned around, gaze falling on a large door on the other side of the room. Behind it, a set of stairs ran down the inside of the tower. The steps went on for seemingly forever, easily fooling first timers who dared climb them. By the Lord's account, it would take them a few minutes to descend back down to the Red Keep, where the King would surely be waiting.

Ned shook his head, "Yes. I recall it."

As few times as he had been to the keep, the Stark would find a hard time forgetting the way to the lord's dining table. Robert wasn't one to shy away from using it, especially if one look at how much the King had let himself go.

Being the new Hand of the King, Ned was sure he'd become quite adept at finding his way there. Hell, at some point, he may not even need his eyes. The smell of one of the King's feasts would be all the path the Stark would need.

Herian took up the end of the party, Jon before her. Her mind focused mostly on the blade on her shoulder and the castle around her. Though to her pleasure she also noted that Jon had formed a habit of walking silently.

Ned led them swiftly through the massive keep to the royal chambers. When they came to the hall, where Robert and this Lannisters awaited. While they traded pleasantries, she stepped off to the side picked a window and sat in its warm light. Swiftly she pulled off a glove, stuffed it into her belt, and tucked her hand under the cloth covering the ebony sword and grit her teeth as its magic leaped out to bite her. "Calm down you over excited puppy." she whispered near silently. The blade kept freezing her fingers, but she ignored it and focused on calming down the enchantments and focusing on the its energy on Jons blood.

Inside the royal chambers, a grand table sat at the very center of the colossal room. It had a deep wooden flair, carved with expert hands for what would have been days on end. A grand cloth covered the table on each side, red in tone and with a golden hue all throughout. Servants carried a massive spread of silver back and forth throughout the hall, covering the table from side to side. One could barely comprehend the sizable spread, it looked more fitting to feed a small army than a simple dinner among friends. The younger members of Ned's family could barely believe it. If not for their formal manners, their jaws would have dropped like anvils.

With the greetings over, both groups swiftly took their seats around the table. The Starks grouped together with Jon and his sisters remaining as close as they could. The Lannisters did much of the same with the Queen, her brother, and her eldest son sitting in a manner much similar to their guests. Naturally, Robert took the head seat among the table with Ned sitting close by. Herian remained by the window, content with such a seat. Though as the others prepared for their meal, her eyes shifted back and forth between her lord and the Lord of King's Landing. As far away as she sat, the Witcher had little need to hide her expressions from those sitting with the family of the North.

It was a simple meal after all, it would pass soon enough.

Once all there settled, the King with cup in hand asked Ned. "So how go preparations for your tournament?"

"Herian had the forethought to cut the winnings for each game and set aside coin to increase the guard." Ned said, carefully keeping an ice edge from his voice.

"That is not the tradition." The Queen said, Jamie at her left hand.

"But necessary. My vassal is very proficient in finding solutions and planning. Much of my work has been done for me."

Herian's lips twitched under her mask, she was not a prideful person, but hearing praise was always nice. The Ice Blade, was slowly starting to bend to her will. She pulled her hand out from under the coverings to watch her frost bitten blackened fingers return to a normal before returning her attention back to the blade and the conversation.

"What is your vassal?" Cersei asked. "No had has seen what lies under that armour."

"Leave it." Robert said, glaring at his wife. "Have many knights signed up?"

"I have not had time to see the papers yet my King." Ned said.

Across the table, Jamie rolled his eyes, "Yet still? It is a bit unbefitting of the King's Hand to remain oblivious to those who will be fighting in their name. These games are for you after all, Lord Stark."

"And for that, I am grateful." Ned nodded, "Be that as it may, I've been rather busy lately, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"Regardless, I plan to examine the participants tonight my King. Regardless of the winning's sum, I'm almost certain that there will be more than enough to put on a fine show."

Cersei scoffed, "I would hope so. It wouldn't look that well on any of us if such a wondrous tournament, put on in your name, is proven to be an empty affair."

Ned felt his brow twitch, yet said nothing. Far across the Room, Herian settled a glare at the Lannister's head. Yet before either could speak, Robert brought his hand down. Literally. The King slammed his goblet into the table, filling the massive chamber with a loud, echoing thud.

"That is enough." he grumbled.

Robert had summoned this feast for a celebratory event, not so his queen and her brother could sent jabs at the guest of honour. Such behaviour was unsightly, for any of them, especially the Queen.

"Come now my King. No harm is meant." Cersei sipped at her wine.

Herian glared at the woman silently, and drew her hand from the blade again. She hated frost magics, fire she would dance in all day and not noticed a thing. Frost? Very painful, but the blade was attunded, she fixed the cloth and rose silently with cat like grace. The Dark elf set the blade on her shoulder and left her gauntlet off, to put it on now would only further damage the skin. She tucked her frost bitten hand behind her back and settled the blade on her opposite shoulder.

Ned saw her rise and gave a slight nod, titling his head to his right.

The Witcher silently made her way over and stood at Neds right. She found it very odd to position, for one Ned was shorter, she was used to only coming up to his shoulder.

Cersei near jumped when the Witcher materialized at the Lord of the Norths' right hand.

The elf surveyed the spread, she had watched it come in, smelt the lot. But seeing was believing, her heart panged for Toussaint. An uncle by marriage had come into possession of a vineyard, the feasts he would hold for the family. Herians' mouth watered at the thought. While the wine was crap from what she could smell, the food was quite fine.

Robert sat back in his chair and shook his head. The King rubbed his forehead with a deep sigh. This was not how he wanted his feast to go. Just a few minutes into it and his Queen had already come close to drawing the ire of something she really shouldn't. Cersei loved to run her mouth and had the capacity to be quite charming with it at certain times. But on other accounts?

The King really didn't want to think about it.

Sparing but a glance at the newly positioned Witcher, Robert picked up his goblet and sighed, "Very well. I'm sure Ned shall have this more than covered. I have my utmost trust in him, especially regarding matters such as this."

To the King's side, his Queen shook her head. After settling her nerves, she gave the Stark a flat glance. Though her glare fell rather short. One look at Herian and Cersei averted her eyes and took a long drink from her whine.

Hidden behind her mask as it were, Herian smirked.

"Thank you, my King." Ned respectfully replied.

The Stark ignored the glaring contest the elf and the Queen shared. His children too chose to ignore this, instead choosing to focus on their food. The group had yet to make a dent in the massive spread that the King had prepared. Jon and his sisters spared one look at the glare the elf had for the Queen and wisely choose to remain as far away from the matter as possible.

Especially Jon. The young Stark had left his blade near the entrance to the chamber, as did many others who had arrived. But even then, the boy had little trouble feeling the icy sting of annoyance that the Witcher was putting out. If the Queen opened her mouth anymore, there was a real possibility that ice-sickles would begin to form off the top of the ceiling.

Herian pursed her lips, she didn't want to act out for fear of stepping on Neds toes.

Jamie Lannister grinned watching the stiff elf, he would put money on her itching to act out, defend her Lords honour. "You know, Herian." He purred out the elfs name, just to play with his sister. "You never did answer my question."

Herian turned her head just enough to acknowledged that he was speaking to her.

"What are you trained as? That sword must be heavy, yet you look like you could juggle it." He sipped his wine.

Herian smiled under her mask, though it was more her baring her teeth. "My answer remains the same. I don't feel the need to tell you."

Cersei glared at the elf, and her blatant rudeness. "Clearly wherever you studied they didn't teach you how to address your betters."

"You assume that you are my betters." Herian rumbled. "I am here to protect the Starks, my skills, training and background are of no concern of those I do not answer too."

Robert cut in before either Lannister could respond. "How is your boy? Bran."

Ned smiled for his friend, and felt Herian back down slightly. While her presence was nice as the Lannisters had stopped focusing on him. It could only make things worse, at some point someone would demand to see what was under that mask.

"He is much better, he has returned to training with his brothers. Though he does not remember the fall, or anything before then." Ned smiled failed as his thoughts turned to his wife.

Soberly Robert asked. "I am glad to hear that. Was their any evidence of what happened to Cat?"

"No, just a common sellsword, no gear or weapons of distinction." Ned lost all of his appetite. "She's just gone."

"I'm sorry." The King said, watching his friend.

Herian listened to the thud of her Thane's heart, watched the fork fall listlessly from his fingers. She quickly noted that Jon, Sansa and Arya were done.

"Perhaps it is time to retire my Thane, the sun sets. You and your children have had a long day." She spoke smoothly, layering her suggestion in the subtext.

What Ned heard was 'you're slipping, time to leave'. He nodded and rose, "Thank you for the meal Robert, but my bodyguard is right. It is high time to retire."

Robert nodded. "I understand my friend, sleep well."

The Starks made a hasty departure, Herian again picking up the rear. But Ned lasted only till they were out of sight of any but her and his children.

He stopped suddenly, pressing a hand to his eyes.

Herian swept up and spoke softly. "To your rooms first." She reached out and tugged at his free hand with her still ungloved one. She tried to ignore how cool his skin felt to her. "Come."

It only took one more tug before they set off again, Herian falling to step just behind her Thane. His children keeping close.

Herian had planned to give Jon his new sword that night, but there would be time later. She sent the three Stark children to bed as her Thane made his way up into his rooms.

The elf made her way up the stairs two at a time, to find her Thane standing staring out the window. Giving up any pretence of humanity, she moved inhumanily swiftly setting the Ice Blade back on the table and removing her outer layers.

She coaxed him out of his clothing and into bed silently before taking her place before the hearth. The Witcher sat in her meditative pose, eyes closed and waited for the next day to come.


	11. Chapter 11

Threads

Herian's eyes snapped open moments before dawn as per usual. She listened for a moment, Ned still slept soundly. Silently rising she made her way over to her gear table and doaned her Daedric armour, but left the over cloak, then set Fang and Claw on her hips. Grabbed a book full of papers, then picked up the Ice Blade of the Monarch. The Elf paused, then plucked 'Werewolves, by Nerevar Indoril' from her collection. Then departed the room and headed down to the Starks private dining area.

Once there she rolled the circular table out of the with an arm letting it sit to the side. Then put Jon's gift on it, the books, then tugged her helmet off to set it beside the artifact. She drew her blades and exhaled, she swept them both up in unison to cross over her chest, blades facing outward.

"Aka." Her voice falling into her native tongue, her Dragon rose up within her to met the call, her eyes blazed gold.

She exploded into motion, the enchantments on her blades leaping into life. Jumping into a spin her blades blazed creating trails of light.

The Dark Elf lashed out with the fury of a dragon, roaring and snarling. The twin blades cleaving through the air so fast they name a SWISSHING sound. The imaginary opponents forced her to defend, but it was always their end, one blade to parry the other to repost.

She spun and twisted, lashing out over and over, battle lust filling her soul. The Indoril discarded any pretence of human, she fell into her blood, the power of the Dragon and the hunger of the Wolf.

The hunter felt oddly strong, she had fallen back on her wolf form against the Leshen, but now, oddly she felt that she would have torn it apart. Blood pounded in her ears, her teeth lengthened. Cleaving the last head of her foes she came to a stop.

"N'chow." She hissed, sheathing her blades and closing her eyes.

The Elf slowed her breathing, falling back on her Witcher training, slowly very slowly the lust faded. Her teeth returned to normal, the glow of her eyes faded. The Hunger gnawed at her belly, she tried not to think about how long it had been.

"Ju'okor hij?" The Witcher bit her lip to keep from screaming. Now was the worst time to have to worry about this, it had been a while but there wasn't even any blood around to set her off.

The redhead shook her head and kneeled on the ground, then reached out to the lay lines of the place. She hold only brushed them before recoiling, they were befouled by humans. Coming back to herself she sniffed the air, switching back to common. "Come out Jon."

The youth had heard her come down and had been watching her since she started to sparing. Her speed made him feel very very small, though he wondered what she had been saying.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, tip toeing into the room.

She was most definitely not going to say she needed to sink her teeth into something with a beating heart. Instead. "Nothing you can aid with." Rising she gestured to the Ice Blade of the Monarch. "It's for you."

The boy walked over trying and failing to hide his excitement. The ebony blade was warm to his touch and with great effort he lifted it from the table, and held it out to gaze at.

Frost magic flowed down from the blade, it metal light blue as if it had been carved from an icicle. Daedric runes were etched into hilt and base of the blade, he felt power pulse through them.

"What is it?" He asked, entranced by the heavy blade.

"The Ice Blade of the Monarch. Legend has it that the Evil Archmage Almion Celmo enchanted the claymore of a great warrior with the soul of a Frost Monarch, a stronger form of the more common Frost Atronach. The warrior, Thurgnarr Assi, was to play a part in the assassination of a great king in a far off land, and become the new leader. The assassination failed and the Archmage was imprisoned. The Ice Blade freezes all who feel its blade _._ " Herian's description was identical to her Grandmothers. "Now it is yours, for as long as it wishes to serve you. Which I think will be for some time." She said with a knowing smirk as she watched the blades magic get acquainted with the boy.

Jon gave it an experimental swing, the blade was very heavy, his arms ached already.

"You first task for the day is to carry that around with you everywhere you go." Herian leaned against the table.

"Everywhere?" The boys' brow shot up.

"Everywhere." The Witcher confirmed, then pulled the book she had left on the table and opened it up to her notes. "These are basic translations from your language to mine, you are going to need to learn it before you can read my books. My Witcher tomes are close enough to your language, but the magic ones are in Dunmeri." The sun peaked over the horizon as she pulled two chairs over. "Sit and we will get started."

When Ned came down the sun had risen high though the day was still early. He was surprised to hear Jon sound out very strange sounding words. Herian would then correct him, shifting from his language to hers all in the space of a sentence. As he pushed open the door he stopped to watch the two. They sat side by side, pouring over papers, Herian was eating an apple between corrections, her helmet within arms reach.

Jon was reading a practice piece that Herian had wrote out for him, first in common it went. "With no warning, Dremoran passed them like a blue and yellow blur, holding his yellow sword over his head. "Spill more blood!" he battle-called, revealing them. He ran into the hall. Before many seconds passed, they heard Dremoran's insane battle-calls, then a loud high sound, then the sound of attacking with swords, then the bad high sound of ripping metal, then the sounds of casting. 'They saw with amusement Dremoran running back from the hall. His armour was cold and claws had attacked it. "Wraith, wraith, wraith! _"_

"Now try the other again."

"Bahr enhi nivisu, Dremoran ligdu'ag asuhl lacor ot shivir ouahn muhrahn, falmekam oam cheldur muhrahn bar oam rouansho. "Vocu eshtik molkhun!" oas cornayne'ag, alshokkam asuhl. Oas aradi'ag ujil as desroth. Gan'il kivri telsaan ligdu'ath, asuhn leyshe'ag 'as cornaayn malshok am Dremoran, dash 'ot rokahr dishmak alt, dash as rokahr am marghakam enhi chelduur, dash as rokahr maeb alt am molihn armakkam, dash as rokaahr am archakam. Asuhn talje'ag enhi uripe Dremoran aradikam bivi devehr as desroth. Oam molfredihn muhri'ag solsif en kagiliim marghe'ath el. "Wraith, wraith, wraith!" He stumbled around a few of the words, but did well. "Why is it translated as wraith?"

"There is no word in Dunmeri for wraith, the closest you can get is card bahrdrar, meaning ancestor undead." Herian explained casually. "Dremoran is Nord they worship the Nine Divines, so they have wraith. My kind worship our ancestors, great warriors that we call our saints and the Daedric Princes. Generally only Azura, Boethiah, Mephala. So no wraith."

"Why do you worship them?" Jon asked.

"Because they listen and are responsible for my people today. Azura cursed us with ashen skin, but cares for us in her own way. Boethiah taught us how to be different from the Altmer and led us to Morrowind. Some call Boethiah our true God ancestor. Mephala, well, let's just say she taught us how to deal with our enemies." Herian didn't think an explanation of Mephala would go down very well.

"I see." Jon gazed down at the strange language. "What do you mean by listen?"

"Well with the correct offering, and if you're an interesting enough person. Any Daedric Prince can chose to answer, sometimes they will speak through you, others physically manifest. Depends the Prince and what they want. Azura only manifests for my Grandmother, but Hircine will appear to almost anyone in one of his aspects."

"Hircine?" The boy cocked his head to the side. "Are you named after him?"

"Yes, my name is one of his. The legend goes that he once led the Wild Hunt, though a different hunt then the one Ciri ran from. The name he went by then as leader of this hunt was Herian, he would lead great warriors who had fallen in battle in his Great Hunt. Eventually this title changed and twisted till we get todays Hircine." Herian shrugged. She had simplified it a rather lot, but the lore was so old it was rather hard to make sense of.

"So you were named after your God of the Hunt?" Jon couldn't imagine being named after a god.

"In short." The Witcher took a big bite out of her apple.

"That must be so strange." Jon picked a grape from the bowl.

"Not really, given my profession and bloodline. It just helps put the fear of the Prince himself into my enemies." Herian smirked at the thought.

Jon shuddered, he had a feeling that went a very long way.

Ned leaned against the doorway listening, nothing was a coincidence with that woman. It was all tied together somewhere.

There was a firm knock on the entry door.

Herian snatched up her helm and Ned waited till it was in place before calling out. "Enter."

A sheepish young male opened the door, his garb was fine but he was otherwise very plain.

"Master Baelish requests your presence in the gardens in one hours time." He gave a curt bow.

"Thank you, you may go." Ned said.

The boy fled.

"That was fast." Commented Herian, pulling her helm back off then devouring her apple.

Ned raised brow in question before walking over and filling a plate for his own breakfast.

"It took them less than a day to start bugging you. No one ever requested my presence, but I guess I should be thankful for that." She picked up a large piece of ham, put a piece of cheese on one side then folded it over.

Jon was amazed how quickly the woman could eat, she wasn't messy or loud, just fast. Maybe she had practice.

"Lucky you." Ned said grumbling, working on his own food.

The Dark elf shifted her attention to Jon. "Keep Arya out of trouble today." She picked up a thin well made tone and handed it to him. "Read that when you can, and keep your wolves with you. They make good messengers."

Jon turned the book on its side and with some difficulty read out. "Werewolves." He looked up at her surprised.

Herian made a point of sipping some water and not looking at him.

Ned finished his meal, and stood. "We should go."

"Yes my Thane." Herian stood and pulled her helm on.

Once out of earshot from Jon and keeping his voice soft so it did not carry in the castle huge halls. Eddard asked his companion. "What are you teaching him?"

Herian only looked forward. "First to defeat me. Second what I have promised him." Her slip was fresh in her mind, someone would need the tools. Best it was someone she trusted.

Ned raised a brow, he couldn't read her under that armour, but he had a sneaking feeling that something had set her on edge.

The walk to the gardens was a long one, Herian did not like it. It made her think of the vineyards of her uncle, or the amazing gardens of her aunt. Homesickness was not a discration she wanted to deal with right now. Either had the same white tiled walkways, or the bare dirt. Her was glad that she picked her Daedric armour today, it hid her, she could draw inward on herself and no one would notice.

The Dark elf fell into step behind Ned as he greeted Baelish.

The lith man started the conversation. "I hear that your," he glanced back at the armoured elf. "Friend, has been looking into Jon Arryns' death."

Ned felt Herian stiffen. "And how would you know that?"

Baelish smiled and asked. "Do you know Ser Hugh of the Vale?"

Ned shook his head as they rounded a bend.

"Not surprising. Until recently, he was only a squire... Jon Arryn's squire. He was knighted almost immediately after his master's untimely death."

"Knighted for what?" Ned asked drawly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Cat would want me to help you."

"Where is Ser Hugh? I'll speak to him." The northman's voice went stony.

"A singularly bad idea. Do you see that boy there? One of Varys's little birds." Baelish nodded at two boys sitting under a tree. "The Spider has taken a great interest in your comings and goings. Now look there." He nodded to an old man holing the garden bed. "That one belongs to the Queen. And do you see that Septa pretending to read her book?"

Eddard looked at the two ladies reading. "Varys or the Queen?"

"No. She's one of mine. Is there someone in your service whom you trust completely?" They came to a stop under a tree.

"Yes." Ned nodded back to Herian.

Baelish looked momentarily surprised, but said anyway. "The wiser answer was no, my Lord. Send her to question Ser Hugh. After that, you might want him to visit a certain armorer in the city. He lives in a large house at the top of the street of Steel."

"Why?" Ned asked as Herian near growled.

"I have my observers, as I said, and it's possible that they saw Lord Arryn visit this armorer several times in the weeks before his death." The short man smirked.

"Lord Baelish, perhaps I was wrong to distrust you." Lord Stark said almost apologetically.

The other man continued to smirk. "Distrusting me was the wisest thing you've done since you climbed off your horse." He then turned and walked way.

Once he was out of earshot, Herian stepped up beside her Thane and said softly. "I am inclined to agree with him."

This caused Neds lips to twitch upwards. "Was what he said true?"

The elf was pleased that he remembered to ask, finally making use of her talents. Though she didn't outward show it. "Yes. Would you like me to visit Ser Hugh?"

"Can you manage that, discreetly?" Ned knew the woman had a taste for flare.

"Of course, worst come to worst I will pay him a night time visit." Herian contemplated her gear. "It would help my Thane if you could spar me few gold pieces, I think it would be wish for me to find some more common clothing. Everything I have is to distinct."

"Good idea," He gave her his coin pouch. "Ser Hugh is probably getting ready for the Tourny, see what you can get out of him. Check up on this smith as well, I am going to head back to the tower. I have reports to go over."

"As you wish my Thane." Herian gave him a small bow, then set off out of the garden. Ned went the opposite way to his guard.

It didn't take long for Herian to find a clothier, it took a bit longer for her to find what she was looking for. Seeing as the day was still young she made her way to the tourney grounds in the Godswood, and hunted out ser Hugh. He thankfully wasn't hard to find, after a small bribe to a peasant boy gave her a description of the man. The elf found him measuring out the jousting lanes, took deep breath to catch his scent then headed off to the armour.

The Daedric clanned Dark elf weaved through the crowds, though all but the most stupid got out of her way. All the while she tried hard not to think about all the pounding hearts and how hungry she was.

Finally coming up to the smithy the owner was a old white haired man.

"Greets." She said stepping into the shop, though it was more of an open forge.

"What can I do for you my lady?" Tobho Mott asked, he shamelessly stared at her armour.

Herian surveyed the walls, the blades were nice but not anything she would use. "These are good." She plucked one off the wall and gave it a swing, it was very light, she did a few sweeping strikes, the blade blurred though the air with her speed. Flipping it, she caught to rest on a finger, the blade wobbled slowly up and down before balancing. "Balance is good too," another flick and the hilt was back in her hand. The Dark elf made another few lightning fast cuts. "Though a bit too light for me." she returned to to the wall. "Do you make these?" she ask Tobho.

"No, I can not swing a hammer like I once could. My boy Gendry does the forging now." he sounded just a bit sad about it.

Herian turned to the boy. "You make fine blades." she walked up the forge and watched the metal he was melting, a helm was stilling proudly to one side. "Is that yours as well?"

Gendry looked over to Tobho who nodded, then he picked up the helm and walked around the forge to Herian, and offered it.

She took the helm and turned it to view the inside. "This is good work," she pointed a cold forged seal. "This was not hot enough though, next time heat both pieces through rather than just one, then hammer them together. It will take some folding to restore the metal strength, but the seal is tighter." The Witcher handed it back to him.

"Do you forge as well then?" Gendry asked, slightly in awe.

"No, but a few members of my family do and I was taught to see quality. What about your family?" Herian leaned on the forge and set her shoulders back.

Gendry smiled slightly at her tone, there was something kind about it. "I don't know my father, but my mother died when I was little. She had yellow hair. She'd sing to me sometimes."

Herian inhaled his scent and smirked, a few more things making sense in rapid succession. "I'm sorry. Well thank you for showing me your work. I may return, my squire will eventually need a suit." She got up and nodded to the two of them. "Thank you for your time."

The Witcher kept her ears open and didn't miss the old mans hoop of joy. The woman smirked as she made her way back to her Thane.

After yet another long time and nodding to Jory Cassel, she swept into Neds office.

The man looked up at her from a paper. "What did you find?"

She thought he looked bored and addled. "King Roberts bastard son." Herian said with a grin. "The smith that Jon Arryn visited was the boy his name is Gendry, he looks very much like his father and I made sure to get a scenting just to be sure." she pulled off her helm and ran a hand through her hair. "I haven't spoken with Ser Hugh yet, but I will go tonight. He looked to have taken well to his new status and I had a feeling he would not talk to me in public."

Ned didn't know whether to be angry or glad for what she had found. "I will write Robert a letter."

"I will go change, I only wore this because I had planned to spar with Jon this morning." Herian put her helm back on.

"Come back when you are done and I will have the letter for you. I know in your hands he will read it." Ned didn't have a clue what Robert was doing, but he did know that the woman scared the King enough for him to pay attention.

"Yes my Thane." Herian departed.

Neds brows shot up when she returned in a very, well normal looking garb. It was all grey, and covering. A light tunic, breaches, soft brown boots, with brown gloves, a light wool cloak with a large hood. Again she was wearing the mask the mimicked her face, he found he liked it more then her wolf mask. He could see her features in the design and it made her feel a bit less alien.

The Stark stood and walked around his table to her. "Make sure this gets to Robert."

Herian nodded. "I won't leave till he reads it."

"Good." Ned smiled.

Herian swept away and back into the bowels of the keep.

As the Witcher approached the Kings rooms the cries of pleasure and giggling assaulted her ears. She ground her teeth, she could add 'slow learner' to the list of Roberts attributes she was compiling. Walking down the last hall she found that Jamie was standing guard outside the Kings door. "Oh joy." she grumbled.

Approaching him she said. "I have a letter from Lord Stark."

"Shhh," he said staring at the floor. "Listen. Do you hear them? How many do you think are in there with him? Guess." He looked up at the elf taking in her less formal attire.

"I don't care, move, or be moved." Herain growled, rolling her shoulders, her steel witcher blade on her back.

Jamie moved, he was curious as to what she was going to do, the elf did not disappoint. She kicked the door open with a ROAR of. "OUT!"

The whores scrambled off of the King. This time none lingered as they fled out past Jamie, clutching their clothes. Her last visit to the King had been the talk of the city for a month, so naturally all the whores knew.

The Witcher slammed the door shut with equal force and glared at Robert then averted her eyes. The King nude was the day he was born was not something she wanted to see, last time he still had most of his clothing on, or mostly on. Herian had to work to keep herself from shuddering.

Striding over she handed the King her letter still averting her eyes.

"What? Never seen a man before?" Robert asked angrily.

Herian felt blush flood her cheeks. She and Harimad had been nude enfront of each other, it came with working and living together. She had not however seen a man will all his, attributes on display. The Elf coughed softly and awkwardly, trying to fight the blush down, but failed miserably. Instead she walked away from him, turning her back to him.

"Dear Gods you haven't." His anger defused by his shock. "How old are you?"

"Twenty six by your count of years." Herian didn't know why she answered him, he had the letter in his hand. Now she just had to get him to read it.

Roberts eyes popped out of his skull. "And you're a-."

"Just drop it would you? Read the letter so I can leave." Herian folded her arms over her chest and tried to look more threatening than she felt.

"Right, sorry." Herian was failing at her usual untouchable aura and Robert could see that. He opened the letter and read silently. When finished he rubbed his temples and sighed. "So I have a bastard, and you will be questioning Ser Hughs?"

"At least one bastard, Jon Arryn was looking into them. And yes I will tonight." Herian still avoid looking at him.

Robert nodded and said. "Alright, I'll abide by Neds request and not act. Thank you for informing me."

Herian nodded. "Do you recall what I said about fucking whores?"

Robert pailed.

"Keep that in mind, Ned hasn't had time to have a go at you yet. But he will." With that she swept from the room.

The Dark Elf stormed through the castle halls, not pay anyone any attention. She could very quickly grow to dislike the castle it took forever to get anywhere!

Finally she returned to her Thane, who sat hunched over paperwork a scowl etched on his face. Herian felt her lips twitch up into a smile, he may be her Thane, but that title was a little different for everyone. "You know my Thane, sitting like that is horrible for your back. I managed most all the papers that had piled up without a Hand. There can't be that much to vex you."

At the sound of a sudden voice, the Stark raised his head from the stacks of parchment and gazed forward. On his face, Ned held an expression of pure contempt. Irritation didn't go nearly far enough to show just how sick of the paperwork he was. A thin pen clenched in his hand, Eddard looked but a mere flinch away from grabbing the closest stack and throwing them out of the nearest window.

Quickly noticing the elf, Ned leaned back in his chair and let out a side. From tense knuckles, he dropped his writing utensil and rubbed his forehead. All around the rough skin, the Stark felt his muscles bend and creak. He had been holding that expression for so long that if it remained any longer, his face might have grown stuck that way.

"Have you ever even done such a tedious job as this?" Ned grumbled, "If you haven't, then I can assure you that any other amount of vexing might seem trivial in comparison."

Herian strode into the room, crouched before his desk and pulled her mask up. There were defiant perks this this one over her wolf one. She weaved her fingers together and rested her hands upon them then at her chin on top. "I did it while you were gone." She gave him a half smirk. "Thought to be fair, I wasn't juggling an tourney, just setting it up." She looked up into her Thanes stony face.

Ned's expression softened about as much as a rock would in a light drizzle, "Then you got lucky. What I have here is much more than calculating expenses and setting up some stands."

The large Stark spread both his arms out, presenting the wide away of parchment he had in front of him to the Witcher. There were literal stacks, all across the desk. In some ways, it wouldn't be hard to assume that some of them weren't even related to the tournament. It had been some time since the King had lost his previous hand. Much of the parchment could have easily be backdraft from the last few weeks while Ned was away. Things a mere temporary replacement could not handle by herself.

"What I am dealing with, is things such as crowd attendance, the combatants. The numerous fields this travesty will entail. At least four different types of combat. Places to hold the houses. The price needed to pay the blacksmith for weapons and armor. And do not get me started on the fools who will be taking part in this affair."

Raising both hands, Ned brought his hands to his forehead and grumbled.

"And to think, the King wishes to name this after his 'Hand'."

Herian almost giggled, but her smile made it plain that she was resisting. "That is much worse than what I managed to sort out. I haven't the foggiest idea how anyone could be able to manage all this. Running a hold is MUCH simpler. Maybe you should get some assistances or something. Though I am not sure who you could trust with such responsibility." She cocked her head to one side in a very wolf like gesture. "I did try to talk them out of tourney, as, as far as I was concerned it was very poorly timed and unnecessary. That and I think I knew you well enough then to say that you would loath such a thing."

"Do not remind me." Ned muttered, "I'm well aware of it. If I was here, I'm certain I would have said the same. Why not hold a party, or an event? A simple feast would have been satisfactory. Expensive, yes but less so than this."

The Stark hung his head back and sighed, "But no. The King must always have his way. Even if we try to drill it into his head, it is his choice in the end. I suppose we should be just happy that in the end, it will not cost nearly as much as it would have if you hadn't spoken up."

Ned hadn't even dared to look at the reports that detailed the Kingdom's debt yet. So far, the Stark had simply gone off the word of mouth of everyone around. King's Landing was in dire need of funds and owed far too much to others to ever hope to pay back at the moment. And combine that with how much this event would cause? It almost made him wish to stand up, grab his desk, and throw it out the window to whatever fate that was held below.

"As for an assistant? A nice sentiment, but that is what the Hand of the King is for. He is the King's hand, his personal advisor. If there were others handling his job, then what kind of hand would he be? Would each finger have their own voice? Their own plans? Their own dealings? The Hand is meant to be one, and they alone should hold the responsibilities on their shoulders."

"A rather rotten system, but I understand." With an energetic bounce the elf leaped back to stand straight then returning to leaning on the table, hands planted in the middle. "But after that depressing conversation, I am sensing a need for change. You see my Thane I have had a remarkably good day," she shrugged. "Mostly. So rather than leave you in here to be buried in papers. You are going to come with me, I have been exploring this city but it is always more fun with company. I have some coin left from what you gave me, and I need a lute." She grinned, not bothering to hide her sharp teeth. "And before you protest." As she saw the Lord was about too. "The world will not end if these papers don't get tended too for an hour or three. Plus I am sure I can find some that are mundane enough for me to help with."

Ned pulled his head forward and settled on a flat stare.

"A lute?" he asked, not a hint of humor in his tone. The words that came from the Stark's mouth were flatter than a helmet that had been flattened to a smear thank's to a giant's hammer.

"Out of all of the items you possess in the world, most of which I won't even try and comprehend, and you want me to accompany you to the market, in order to acquire you a wooden lute for your free time?"

As blunt as the Stark's words seemed, none were unflattering or felt demeaning in the slightest. Ned crossed his arms and shot the Witcher a very serious look. In all honesty, her Thane couldn't even begin to wrap his head around such a request. Could she not simply carve one out of a log of wood? Surely with all her talents, Herian was capable of that. Why not send someone else to go do it. Wouldn't be that hard. Hell, how could she not have one already with the near limitless pockets the elf seemingly had? It was rather astounding.

Herian could pull weapons of various shapes and sizes out of seemingly nowhere on her person, and yet she didn't have a lute to speak of? Really, Ned was finding it rather difficult to believe such a thing.

That wolfish cock came again as she read her Thanes expression, grinning broadly her cheeks dimpling. "That about sums it up." She rocked on her heels and danced away. "Come on! It shall be fun! My Grandmother is a-," she passed in her steps and frowned. "Lets just say she is very powerful, she makes me look like an ant. But she still walks among her people, it is good to know the people you serve."

Ned frowned. For a moment, he contemplated raising a brow at the comment regarding her grandmother. Regardless, the Stark let such a comment slide and shook his head. She did have a bit of a point. How many times had he been outside the castle walls since arriving? Once? Twice? Three at the most. The people of King's landing, as snobbish as they could be had seen very little of the new Hand. Some might even muse on the thought that the big fuss being made over him could be nothing but a farce.

The Stark shook his head and loosened his grip.

As much as he would rather like to brush off the thoughts, he couldn't simply ignore them. Ned could care absolutely sod all about how the people of this land thought of him. He was man of the North. Their thick skins were legendary. Yet in his position, such carelessness could not be afford. To look down on the Hand would be looking down on the King himself, and that would shame both the Stark and his entire line.

Shame to one's honor, regardless of how pitiful the reason was, could not be allowed.

"Perhaps," he grumbled, "Perhaps some air could be good for me."

Herian stepped around his desk and before he could speak, grabbed both of his hands and heaved him out of his chair and half way to the door. "Not perhaps, it will. Now come on, I get to go shopping and we get to confuse the plougin hell out of some spies! It's a win, win situation!"

Ned blinked, "Spies?"

Passing through the halls of such a colossal structure, for men and women was often a rather common event. It did not matter on position or the time of day. More often than not, someone could often be found strolling along through the stone passageways for some reason or another. On most days, they would be witness to the beautiful textures and decorations that filled every inch of the keep. On this day however, for many who found themselves in such halls, they were struck silent by a sight that none could have honestly been expecting.

A woman, clothed in a cloak with her face well hidden gleefully dragged a much larger man in even thicker clothes through the halls without a care in the wide eyes, many watched the two as they made their way through the castle and out into the courtyards below. None had words for what they saw. It was odd, even more so for a few. For while they had no idea of the woman in front, the face of the man himself seemed rather familiar.

Finally amidst the streets, Ned shook his head and spared a glance at his hand. The poor wrist of leather and meat felt as if someone or something was squeezing the life out of it. The feeling didn't hurt too bad, but the sheer feeling of a lack of blood flow was hard to miss.

"You are enjoying this, far too much." he deadpanned.

Herian released his hand and rounded on him grinning. "Of course. I am still amazed that you allowed me to drag you out!" They were heading down into the city proper but hadn't yet entered the busy streets. "Being rigid as a board is something I had to learn, right now I don't see a reason to be. Plus you mentioned wanting to get to know me better, so I decided to relax a bit."

Ned shot her a look, "When I picture you relaxing, going out into a heavily crowded street in the middle of the day isn't exactly what I had in mind."

If the Stark could imagine the greatest way Herian would enjoy her time off, he pictured a nice field, surrounded by nature. No sounds of people talking for miles, no carts rolling across a stone covered street. Being dragged out into the middle of King's Landing was as clear on the other side of his expectations as you could get. One would think the elf would rather stab herself in the ears with her own knives instead of dealing with the constant noise and high picked yelling. Both filled the air more than the smoke from a battlefield. The stench of a mound of burning bodies were almost preferable.

The North was preferable in such respects. It could be cold, almost impossible to live in at certain times of the year, but at least it was quiet. A person had more than enough room for themselves, just so long as they could dig out a small living in the cold. Here though? It was like being stuck in a pin full of chickens constantly crowing day and night.

She walked in long slightly swaying steps, hands tucked behind her back, face upward towards the sky. "Normally would you be right, but I am in need of a lute, though I will bend to a drum or fiddle. I get more enjoyment with drawing you out." She turned to attention to the road. "Besides, this place doesn't hold a candle to Beauclair. I can deal with people, the noise is not that bad. You don't have mummers, or tubadours playing in the streets."

"Right," Ned muttered, "So there is some kind of plus."

Across the cobblestone streets and shacks, the two continued their way through the bazaar without a hint of care. Full crowds of men and women passed the pair up and down the streets, their voices as loud as the drums of war. Ned rolled his eyes and focused his gaze forward. The quicker such a matter was dealt with, the better.

Sparing a look at a nearby shop, a thought smacked the Stark over his head.

"One thought." he mused, "Do you even know of a shop that might sell you a lute?"

"Not really, I browsed a map of this place a while back, you don't really seem to have a musicians street. The Street of Silk is the closest thing that I have seen, though I haven't been there yet. Do you have any ideas?" She stepped to walk closer to Ned as the streets thickened.

As they walked, Ned tested the name of the street upon his tongue. When had she heard of a place such as that? Minor gossip? Someone just speaking aloud one day?Upon further thought however, the Stark dropped such poundering. Trying to figure out what the elf might have been up to was only asking for a big headache.

"I'm afraid I don't." he shook his head, "It has been quite a long time since I've been through these streets. A few visits to the King leaves little time to rummaging through the marketplace."

Ned scratched his chin, "I suppose asking around could be of some use. Lord knows we would be at this for hours if we merely looked around to our heart's content."

Though, one look at the elf's face told the Lord that she might not have minded that too much. Given the carefree look on her obscured face could give the exact opposite expression.

"Hmm." Herian purred, then pulled down her mask when a young boy ran her way. "There must be some centre for music and other pleasures. I figured a street called the Street of Silk would be a good start, perhaps when we get there, there will be someone to ask."

Dusk was creeping up on them as they rounded their way down into the aforementioned street. Herian came to a lurching stop when the noises and scent of the street attacked her. She bit her lip and asked somewhat shakily. "Uh, Ned. Just to clarify, what is this street for?"

"Hm?"

With a brow raised, Ned turned his head and glanced around. The steely eyes of the Lord spanned across the streets. He took in all that as around him, from the people to the very textures of the shop's exteriors. The stone covered shops, stalls of wooden planks, and doors nailed with rotten, splintered frames.

At a first glance, the street looked the same as the others. King's Landing had a very similar feeling throughout most it's streets. In the opinion of a man of the North, the stone pathways had a very snobbish, 'higher than thou' feeling with an undercoating of grime. But as the Stark looked on, the surroundings air smelt of booze, the men and women in the streets became more and more disheveled with each passing step. At the doorframes of the shops, men hobbled in and out with the most ear splitting grins one could imagine. And the women? The least said about that the better.

Ned narrowed his eyes and threw his gaze onto the ground. What was that name? The name of the street Herian had mentioned? The name hung on the tip of his tongue. The street of something. Street of the Sisters? No, that belonged to the Alchemists. Steel? Perhaps, but there were far less smiths than there should have been in such a place. The air would be filled with soot and smoke and the sound of metal cracking if that were the case. No, this was different. Far different than either of those places. Yet, this place seemed far more degrading.

Suddenly, realization stuck.

In a meaty smack, the Stark slapped his palm over the top of his face, "Of course."

Out of all the places, of course this had to be the first one the elf had to drag him to. Whether she knew it or not, this fit her antics fare more than she could have ever possibly know.

"Uh, Ned? Did I do something wrong?" She stepped toward him head cocked wolfishly. "I think this street needs a different name, cause I am confused." The elf was getting a better idea of the area, but was still completely out of her depth.

His jaw still clamped shut, Ned ran his hand down the front of his face. With a great sigh, the Stark shook his head. The stench in the air was quite thick at this point, and yet she still had little clue of where exactly they could be?

"No, you did not." he muttered, "This place just isn't anywhere near where you would find anything remotely like a lute."

"Darn." she sniffed again and made a face. "I mostly smell sweat and men, but that doesn't really fall in like with the name of the street." Looking upwards she studied the houses. "There is a rather lot of flowers here." The elf mused.

Ned sighed, "That is certainly for a good reason."

"This particular vein of King's Landing doesn't have anything in the realm of shops or supplies, but there is something that draws quite a crowd." he muttered, "Which is likely due to the fact that this corner is basically a haven of bars and brothels."

The amount of women lining the streets made Ned want to shake his head. It was rather revolting to be honest, on some level at least. He wasn't too surprised that it existed in a city as large as King's Landing. Regardless, the Stark had hoped not to find a good reason to visit it anytime soon. Of course, that wasn't counting on an Elf to stumble on inside without having the faintest of clues of what would be waiting for her.

Herian's jaw dropped, it was very plain to Ned, mask or no mask. "You lot have a whole street devoted to THAT!" She blinked rapidly and backed off. "I don't know whether to impressed or appalled." The Witcher glanced around, and fought down a blush, at least the Passiflora was tasteful. Though she only went anywhere near that place for the Gwent tournaments.

The Streets name suddenly made a rather lot more sense, and she had thought it was about foreign wares.

The shocked expression on the elf's face did not help with Ned's mood. Yet again, the Stark had the urge turn around and march his way back to the keep. Paperwork was seeming far less of a bother the longer this went on. Sure there was stacks upon stacks of it, but the parchments would end sooner or later. Right?

"Yes, yes. Get it out of your system." Ned muttered. Really, did she not have anything even remotely like this back where she came from? There had to be something or another right? There just had to be.

"Just be happy you merely discovered that before walking into one of these 'shops'." he mused, "I'm almost certain you would have found something, but not the lute you're seeking."

Herian nodded and started back the way she came, "I am sure I would have figured it out well before then. But still? A WHOLE street? I mean Novigard has twelve brothels, and yes I did find and count them. Mostly so I could just avoid them. Well I guess we shall just have to start with the marketplace. I doubt asking anyone here will be productive."

"It'll likely be the opposite of such a thing," Ned grumbled, "The best you'd hope for would to be dragged into some tavern and be offered a hefty drink."

Beyond that? Ned had little idea and sought to know little else in terms of this street. When you have a large city, it should be fairly unsurprising to find anything of a strange variety within. Of course, just because it isn't surprising does not mean it couldn't be utterly appalling anyway.

Shaking his head, the Stark took charge and walked ahead of the rather bewildered Witcher, "Despite that, I'd say we leave. We can ask another vender for the location of the nearest shop. Perhaps someone respectable, selling fruits or the other."

"An excellent plan, and I shall add this to my list of places to avoid." Herian quickly fell into step beside her Thane. "I do wonder what fruits you have here, and if they are anything like what I have at home." She raised her head and sniffed the air again. "I am beginning to remember way I hate cities. It's hard to smell a damn thing over all the humans." The elf sighed. "I would kill for an ash yam."

Ned raised a brow, "An ash yam? Afraid I've never heard of such a thing. But I do agree, the crowded nature of a city has never sat right with me either."

Winterfell might have seemed like a cold tomb of stone to some, but it was home. More than a meager few people lived there, but things rarely seemed crowded. In the Streets of King's landing, to bump into someone's shoulder every few steps wasn't unheard of in the slightest. Yet in the cold of the North? Just seeing more than one person every few days could be a joy, regardless of how odd it sounded.

The city was just too crowded, as Herian had noted.

Herian held up her hands and made a small shape no larger than her fist. "It's a root vegetable that only grows in my birthlands Ashlands."

The pair found their way into the marketplace, vendors hawking their goods as loudly as possible. Herian stood on her toes trying to see over the throngs of people. "I am beginning to think I should have picked a time later in the day. Ugh, I wish I was taller. Dad never had this problem."

Ned turned his head and shot the elf a small glance.

While not a giant by any means, Ned found himself quite decent in the height department, as did many in his family. Herian on the other hand, did not benefit as great from her height in retrospect. The elf was short. Not painfully so, but enough that she might have needed a box to stand on while in the middle of a crowd. Course she'd likely to stab anyone who would suggest such a thing, which is why Ned did not speak up about the matter in turn.

Instead, a slight slip of the tongue had brought about a far more interesting topic.

"Your father?" he asked.

The Witcher nodded. "Aye, he is a crossbreed between a Khajiit and my Ashlander Dark elf of Grandmother. So she is pure blooded. He was born under a waxing Masser and a full Secunda, in short he is a Cathay Khajiit. Very tall, very strong. I was born under a full Secunda and a new Masser, so I am a Ohmes, the most humanoid of the Khajiit. Plus my mother was a Dark Elf, so that contributes to my features. Like my thrice be damned height!" She made a move to jump to try and see but only just refrained.

"Huh," Ned mused, "Well, I see that something had to come at a price when comparing to your skills. A bit of height doesn't seem too bad in comparison to the things you're capable of."

The Stark titled his head, barely avoiding a light slap from the short Witcher. He might not have been all too familiar with most of the words, names, and phrases that came from Herian's homeland, but it wasn't hard to tell that her height was a bit of a sore spot for the elf. She wasn't too short, especially for someone such as herself. In fact with her profession, one could assume that being smaller might actually be a good thing half the time.

Course in the case of large crowds? Not so much.

The woman sighed and stopped trying to see, but did step closer to Ned to avoid getting run over by a small party of young men running by. "Can you see anything from up there? Or should we just start wading through?"

"Not much to see really," Ned mused, "There is more people naturally, but other than that, nothing worth noting. It is like surfing through a haystack."

With crowds of people on both sides of the roads, it was rather hard to see. In fact, even the shops and shacks were rather muffled by the migrating crowd. Ned narrowed his eyes and tried to get a closer look but it was to no avail. At this rate, one would need to be about five or so feet in front of the nearest sign to get even the slightest of good looks.

Herian nodded. "Aye, hmm. Let me try something." The Witcher let her eyes slide closed and focused her senses, she hated doing this in crowds. A hundred different scents assaulted her nose, flowers, fruits, people, oils, woods. "Follow." She set off weaving through the crowd, eyes still closed as she used her ears to avoid the people around her. Through the snippets of conversations she wasn't going to pay attention too. She heard the strum of a lute, she let her eyes slide open when she had the sound. Holding on to it was rather hard, usually she would do this when monster hunting, not in the middle of a busy square.

Still it was better than aimless wandering, it took a few minutes but she found a booth where the merchant was strumming one of his instruments out of boredom.

A few steps behind, Ned calmly strolled on after the elf. The Stark calmly observed the surroundings, taking in the sights and sounds. In his experience, King's Landing, despite its grand and extravagant outward sights, was far too crowded and cramped. The small booth was held together with small planks of wood, carefully carved by hand. It was like a small crack between the loud, noisy streets outside.

Striding up to him Herian leaned over and analyzed a light golden lute that sat on display. She didn't have the faintest clue what it was made off, it was however well made.

She spun the base in her palm then plucked at each string, adjusted the tension, then repeated the action. It had a lovely resonance, the elf found herself smiling at the familiar sound.

Off to the side, Ned crossed his arms and leaned against a wall. While silent, the Stark watched as the elf was fascinated by the small instrument. He had seen her like this before, but only with a weapon tucked between her fingers or a scroll in her hands. A small smirk found itself upon the man's face, though he kept his voice to himself.

"You have a seasoned hand." The merchant said as he watched the elf handle the lute.

"I grew up playing, though I haven't touched a lute in almost three years. So I find myself needing a new one, what is the string made from?" The Witcher asked.

"Goat gut." The merchant said, setting his instrument down.

Ned raised a brow and shifted in place. Goat Gut? Out of all the things that you could make a instrument out of, why would you choose that, to use as strings? The Stark wasn't a musician by any means, but that struck the man as odd.

Herian played a little three chord piece. "Do you have spare strings? I know gut is, temperamental."

"I do, but they are extra."

She finished out her punch of coins and counted. "This lute and two extra string sets, for fifty coins."

"Sixty."

Ned rolled his eyes. That much for a instrument and some thread? Ridiculous.

"Fifty-five."

"Done."

Herian set the lute down and handed him the coins, the pouch was mostly empty.

The merchant packed the lute into a case with two string sets, and Herian and Ned were swiftly back on their way toward the Keep. The trek back to the stone fortress was thankfully much easier than the march into the streets. No comically wrong turns, nor stumbling into yet another section of the city neither of the pair wished to ever step foot in. It was but a simple stroll through King's Landing, if a crowded one.

Once returned, Ned let out a groan and made his way back to his desk. To the Stark's silent horror, the stacks of parchments seemed even larger than they had been upon their leave. One stack in particular seemed to reach all the way up to the ceiling! Thankfully, as thanks for accompanying her on her stroll, the Witcher offered her hand in assisting the man in their dauntless task. For much of the day, the pair worked through much of the paperwork that remained upon their return, for two hands make lighter any work.

While he did not voice it, Ned was unrelenting with his thanks for the assistance. Even with the work that went into maintaining a fortress like Winterfell, the tasks of the King's Hand were not to be taken lightly. For anyone of smaller will, they might have thrown their hands up and surrendered to the parchments.

Only when all the humans had retired for the night did Herian part from their company. Little better than a wraith in the night, spell, illusion and skill cloaking her from sight.

She made swift progress to the tourney grounds within the Godswood, and finding Ser Hughs was an even easier task. She pulled off her gloves and tucked them into a pocket, then allowed her claws to extend. Like a most she entered the knights tent, then held on razor sharp claw to his throat.

The knight woke with a lurch, blood welled up as her claw cut ever so slightly into his weak flesh.

"Shhhhh." she whispered, holding a clawed finger to her bare lips.

Ser Hughs looked up in terror, but could only make out ash lips.

She leaned down spoke into his ear. "What did you do to Jon Arryn?"

"I don't know what you are talking about." The knight said with both bluster and fear.

Herian drew her finger along his throat, the skin broke under it but the wound was swallow. "Now, now, no lies. I can hear your heart. Its frantic beat." The Lycan made a show of licking her lips. "Speak, the truth. For I have not fed in many many months and your blood smells so sweet."

The Knight swallowed and felt her claw cut him again. "Lady Arryn promised to have me knighted if I put some extra water in his wine one day. How was I supposed to know it was poison? When Lord Arryn died, King Robert knighted me in his memory and Lady Arryn fled. That's all I know."

The Witcher was silent for a moment, then with a flick of her wrist, healed the young knights throat. She made a show of licking his blood of her finger, and purred in pleasure. "If I find you have been lying, no one will ever find your body."

Herian departed from the tent before the knight could answer or call for the guards. Her wolf was banging on the door for the whole walk back. Crying, begging for blood, she grit her teeth, and when she returned to Lord Starks room, quickly gathered ink and parchment, and her box that collected her to her family.

She sat on in the middle of the balcony, the moon high in the sky. The elf shuddered and flinched when it touched her skin, after pulling her gloves back on she picked up the quill.

 _Grandmother_

 _I don't know what to do, I have not tasted mortal flesh in months. I fear I will fall, my wolf gets more and more aggressive with each passing day. The moon here does not have the call of Masser and Secunda, but it still calls. Lately even in the broad daylight my wolf jumps so eagerly. Grandmother I am afraid. I work for my Thane keeps me busy and today I went and found a lute. But I fear next time blood is spilt before me I won't be able to hold back. Please, any suggestions you have._

 _Herian_

 _P.S Thank you for sending my things._

Herian opened her little ornate box and put the letter in, grasped her moon and star amulet and watched as box glowed. Showing that her letter had been sent. The Witcher shifted to sit in her meditative position and waited.

That night she was lucky and the box glowed not an hour after she sent her note.

The Witcher's eyes snapped open and she all but tore open the box.

 _Herian_

 _You are very lucky to have lasted this long. Most wolves have this problem within a month of not feeding. You can continue without the blood, it will hurt and you will grow weaker in your mortal form, closure to what you would be naturally capable of. Your wolf however will be as strong as ever, fueled by the bloodlust. I have sent two silver bracelets, these will BURN you when your wolf surfaces. You will not be able to do even the most partial shift when wearing them without pain. But they will condition you to keep your wolf in line. I have also sent dimeritium, silver plated shackles. Next full moon, find a safe place, put them on and shift. You must let your wolf out at somepoint, or not even silver will keep it at bay. It will get better with time._

 _On a slightly happier note, I am glad you are playing again. If you ever want a pick up from wherever it is you have landed, you know Ciri and myself are but a call away._

 _Love you_

 _Nerevar_

Herian pulled out the bracelets and wasted no time on slipping them under her gloves. She hissed as the silver made her skin blister for a moment before it calmed. The shackles were thankfully covered in a black cloth, the elf sighed in relief. This was not something she EVER wanted to explain to Ned.

Picking up her things she went back inside, and hid the shackles under the rest of her gear. She couldn't place an illusion on them due to the nature of dimeritium. When she was finished she sat before the fire and resumed her meditation.

 **Thank you to those who reviewed.**


	12. Chapter 12

**To Mr. Guy.**

 **One, true dark elves are not short, we did not call Herian short, we called her shortish compared to Ned, I see as Ned as well over six feet tall. As was mentioned a few chapters ago, we are going with the representation of characters in the book over the show. In comparison she's not that short, I view her at around five seven. TWO not everyone is the same. Saying that Dark elfs aren't short, is like saying 'all people of asian descent are short.' this is quite frankly not true. People come in a thousand different flavors and everyone is different. Next Herian is not pure Dark Elf as was described in the chapter. Seeing as you obviously aren't familiar with ES lore, let me give you the description of a Ohmes Khajiit.:**

 **Similar in many ways to the Bosmer, although generally of lesser stature. In order to avoid being mistaken as one of the Bosmer many Ohmes tattoo their faces to resemble a feline-aspect. The Ohmes is the most common form seen outside of the province of Elsweyr, taking advantage of other races' preference to their appearance to serve in positions of ambassadorship and trade. It is possible that the Ohmes are the breed seen across Tamriel at the end of the fourth century of the Third Era.**

 **Three Herian is an addict who has been going without a fix, yeah she is going to get debuffed for a little bit. But she is still really strong and powerful compared to the rest of the characters. I did do this so Ned would actually be able to hold his own against her, the playing field does need evening. Even with that in mind, let me put it like this. In Morrowind, as it is the backbone for my math related to my characters as anyone how has played Morrowind will note that Herian uses its Blue healing magic and not Skyrims gold. Let me put it like this a full set of Daedric armour in Morrowind (as it has the best, strength to pounds ratios) the full set is 294 POUNDS. NOT LIGHT. This is not counting a shield or weapons. There is a reason Herian is noticeably more fluid and faster out of it.**

 **So you Mr. Guy who doesn't even have the balls to sign in so I can rip you a new one privately. You are a you're a bloody, hairy-arsed nob, and a git, who doesn't have any real grasp on Elder Scrolls lore. Who completely failed to gasp everyone on the planet is different, who clearly can't think beyond the standard racial stereotypes. Seeing as your review was so single minded and frankly funny in its stupidity, you have earned your place in my doc of 'stupid reviews to laugh at'.**

 **Sorry about that, to all my nice readers who pay attention. I hope that was informative. To any who wish to see how I look at Dark Elves I point you to Morrowind, or Dunmer Physique by Swietopelk.**

 **Oh with the show!**

 **p.s, I'm Canadian so I spell like one, so armour, honour, these are not errors.**

* * *

Tourney Part One

The day of the Tournament was finally upon them, it had been a few busy days of running around. Between the paperwork and the message running, both Ned and Herian had been very busy. Jon was making good progress through Herian's books, The Ice blade ever at his side, but they hadn't yet started working on magic.

Today Jon and Ayra had been exploring the grounds, Ned and Herian were just making their way down to the fields.

Off in the distance, the sounds of voices and cheers echoed through the air like a breeze of wind. Hundreds and hundreds of footsteps shifted through dirt roads and cobblestone pathways. Even with hours till the opening ceremony, both men and women, as well as children were lining up for the slimmest of chances to see the spectacle to be. The bombastic noise could be heard all across King's Landing, from the highest of towers to across the lush fields. No one, save for the lucky few marching in or out of the grand city could escape it.

In the path leading to the soon to be packed field, Ned spared a glance at his hands. With his thumb, the Stark carefully caressed the palm of his hand.

For several nights now, the plague of parchments had hounded the Stark like a pack of wolves. Day in and day out, the King's hand had been forced to supervise every little detail relating to the tournament. The Knights who were set to do battle against each other, the stands, the food to be served. Every little detail, Ned had to read off on it, sign it, and deliver it to where it was needed.

All for a tournament that was being held in his honour. Without any hint of his approval or consent. Everything was decided without Ned, and he had little say in it. None. For a tournament for King's Hand. Nothing at all.

"If this is the kind of work I'll be required to do in such a position," he sighed, "Then, if my hands decide to fall off on their own accord, it'll be too soon."

Herian smiled kindly at her Thane. "I will be sure to administer plenty of healing magic then. I think you would be quite miserable without your fingers."

"I'm debating it." Ned muttered, "At least I'd be able to spare them from any further torment."

The Elf shrugged. "How the other Hands could remain sane, I may never know. I would imagine they would need numerous assistants or something of the like to handle such parchments."

He glanced at the elf, "Indeed, without you, I'd likely still be drowning in a sea of paper."

"Anytime my Thane, though next time. I think we should take half of it and dump it on Roberts desk. Though we might have to move rooms if we do that, I don't trust him to actually do it without supervision." She shuddered. "And you can bug him first, I've seen that man naked enough to last me a lifetime."

Ned chuckled. A short, thick grunt of a laugh, "If I know the King, he'd likely rest a hunk of meat on them and later claim he didn't have a decent pen to use."

The King might not have been the most laziest of lords. In the past, the Stark had seen Robert do what he had to when the time came. But when it came to meagre things like paperwork and parchment? There was a reason why the Hand of the King had to do matters such as this. If he didn't do it, then the stacks of parchment would be overflowing through the windows of the keep.

"Which is way we would have to move shop. With the two of us glaring, I am sure he'd get something done. Plus it would keep the whores out of his rooms." Herian shook her head trying to erase that imagine.

Unfortunately, such an image was not so easily burned.

Ned shook his head. The last thing the Stark needed at the moment was such a thought burrowing into his head. The tournament was on the horizon, his hands ached underneath a pair of leather gloves, and to add a painful headache atop off of that?

"Please don't give me that image." he muttered, "But perhaps. At the very least, we might be able to gain someone's assistance in the matter. If for every party the King decides to have, if the paperwork starts to climb to the ceiling, then the parchment might as well be the main course for his feast."

"That would be lovely revenge." Herian purred at the thought. "And if I have to endure that imagine, I shall share the pain."

As the pair continued their trek towards the field, Ned sent the Witcher a slight glare, "I was not the one who barged in on him. I may understand your stance on the matter, but if you had simply knocked, that might not have happened."

"No he would have ignored me. Plus that Lannister was there." she nibbled on her lip. "And it's fun sending his company scrambling."

The Stark rolled his eyes. Of course she'd find that funny. This was the elf that decided to walk up to him and the King with an entire elk hoisted atop her shoulders. By the shocked expressions she earned from that little display, it was almost if she thrived off it.

"Just be happy that Robert isn't the petty type," he grumbled, "If he wanted, all this paperwork might have been payback for that little stunt."

Though if that were the case, Ned's room would have been packed to the brim with parchments. In fact, both their rooms would have had paperwork lining the walls from corner to corner. Although in Herian's case, most of that parchment might have ended up as ash at the end of the day.

"Hmm, that could be fun." She grinned evilly, "I am sure we could do worse." The elf shook her head. "Be thankful I am not younger, I used to live for this kind of pranking."

Ned raised a brow.

That comment brought no shortage of horrifying images to the man's head. The Witcher, with all her skills and talents going around King's Landing and even Winterfell, playing who knows what kind of tricks on whoever made the mistake of giving her a bad look?

"I'm sure the people are quite happy that you don't still," he mused, "I'm not sure many of us could retain our sanity if you were up to such tricks, day in and day out."

She tapped her fingers together just under her chin and cackled. "MUAHAHA!" Ideas flashed through her head, spiking the food with a hallucinogenic, buckets of paint over the Queens door, maybe a payer to Sanguine, or Sheogorath. Either could be endless fun. The Witcher covered her mouth and giggled, endless ideas of mischief flashing behind her eyes.

As the elf laughed at the devious thoughts that spiralled around inside her head, Ned carefully took a step and inched a foot or two away from the Witcher. What he said might not have been the smartest of things to utter in the woman's presence. By the utter glee her expression held, the Stark had a very bad feeling that his worries might become a reality the next time she was in the mood for it.

Whenever that time arrived, Ned could do nothing but hope that he was as far away from the Witcher as physically possible. Perhaps a short vacation back home would be due. See how his other son was doing back in the frozen North.

"Right," he coughed, "That as it is, there are other matters to deal with."

"Like how we're going to survive this tournament for instance."

"By stuffing cotton in our ears and hoping very hard." The Witcher said in jest. "I don't know, I've only ever played in. Hmm two tournaments, but they were very different from this."

Ned raised a brow, "Oh really?"

"How were they?" he asked, "I'm almost afraid to know though, might make the one in front of us seem even more agonizing in comparison. But do tell, what matters have you had to deal with in the past?"

"Both were Tourneys of Saint Lebioda, and her chivalric principles. They were based on a point system, to be tallied up at the end of the tourney. In one, I had to fight a Basilisk, in the other it was a Shalmarr. Harimand and I split those fights evenly, between us, as usually we were the last knights standing. After that there was an archery competitions, those were always easy, be it with Witcher's crossbow or bow. Then came the races. Instead of jousting a Knight had to ride a track as fast as possible, hitting targets along the way. Each target hit would give the knight thirty more seconds deducted from their run. I was never very good at that one, I usually just managed to keep from embarrassing myself."

She closed her eyes and she could feel the heat of Toussaint. "Lastly came the one on one fights, Harimand and myself usually ended up paired together as none of the other Knights were stupid enough to want to go toe to toe with Witchers. And we were always the last chosen to fight as we were the most entertaining and the Duchess knows Witchers well enough to not set us against normals." Herian shrugged. "I won one, Harimand the other. He is much better on horseback then myself." The elf clasped her hands behind her back and smiled look up into the sky. "I always liked those Tourneys, the commentators were amazing. They could spin any action, even defeat into works of rhyme and poetry."

At hearing such tales, as short as they were, Ned bowed his head and gave the elf a nod, "Well, I can already tell the advantages your experiences have over this."

By words alone, Herian had peaked the Stark's interest. There weren't a show, put on by some lord who sought to play up the importance of a friend, now occupying a new position. No. These were actual tournaments. Tests of skill between knights and soldiers who were not in it for fame. Or at the very least, it was not their motivation. Herian wouldn't dare take part of such a pitiful show. That was why she barely batted an eye at the farce the duo were about to bare witness to. What the elf had been through on two other occasions were much different. They spat in the face of Robert's festival indeed.

If only this tournament could be of such higher standing. Ned sighed. Instead, this was going to be a play for the rich and powerful to laugh and cheer at for hours on end. All with the saddest part being that it was all in his name. The King's Hand.

"If we were on our way to one of those events, I might have considered taking part in them, if possible." he mused. Ned had no intention of stepping a foot in the courtyard for this event, but for what Herian spoke of?

That was another matter in itself.

She smiled and stepped closer, just so they were walking side by side. "I think you would like them. Some of the Knights could be pompous asses, but that is a universal trait. Toussiant is one of my favourite places. It is always nice there, sun, fruit, more wine than could ever be drank. There people are expected to be kind and follow the chivalric virtues. People would rarely turn on me or Harimand, just because we are different." The Witcher signed. "Some of my fondest memories are of that place. There the games were a part of life, there are two Colosseums maintained year around for them. Witchers aren't taught to be chivalrous, but I learned to be in Toussiant." Herian glanced out into the crowds. "It was nice to be appreciated. Be brave, or kind, and people actually came to like me. Rather than glaring." She shifted her gaze back to the road. "And well, Harimand still laughs at the imagine of a werewolf frolicking in the purple fields of lavender." Her lips twitched in memory.

It had been one of her first shifts in Toussiant and the pair had camped beside the road. She had be worried about returning to the area, so she shifted and had gone for a run. By the time she got back to Harry, her gold coat had been turned purple with pollen."

"I apologize then," Ned stated, "There is not much I can do to help with the glares one can often get. Such is just the lay of the land, and how many often react to something the do not understand."

Be it King's Landing or even some part of the North, Ned was no fool to ignore the heated expressions that could be shared between two people Be it for a misunderstanding or a bad matter of timing one day, there were times where glares were the only thing to be given. Even up in the North, where respect and honour was the lay of the land, the frozen wilderness was not something that could comfort you often. Sometimes the people, the places, and all else might simply bare their teeth at your like a wolf stranded in the middle of the forest. No rhyme or reason, it simply happened.

As it pained him to say, no deeds or kind words could change things so easily. The thoughts and manners of the people were etched in deep, like a carving upon a stone or a hint of steel smelted into the side of a hunk of armour. That was merely the way of the land.

For better, or for worse.

Herian waved his apology off. "You have nothing to apologize for. I have long since learned what humans can be like. I shall simply have to earn it again. I don't know how, but someday I would like to be able to walk without a mask."

"Perhaps." Ned mused, "And perhaps too, the King will finally realize the state of his Kingdom and begin to work to restore it to a point that it can stand on its own feet, without having to borrow money from every possible source in the land."

Though if Ned were to be truthful, of those two matters, having Herian remove her mask seemed like the much more realistic one of the pair. At the very least, it would require less paperwork.

"Maybe when this is over, I shall stop wearing it around you. Then Robert, and so on, slowly break people into the idea. Though on that note, I have a question for you." Herian turned her masked face to him. "What do you prefer, mask or no mask?"

Abruptly, Ned flinched. The Stark nearly stopped dead in his tracks, frozen upon the path to the fields. Calmly though, as quickly as he froze, the Stark shook his head and marched forward yet again, as if nothing happened.

"If I am truthful, I don't have much of a preference." he stated, "Mask or not, your appearance suits me the same either way."

Herian bit her lip, the flinch had spoken volumes. Slowly resuming her stride to match her Thanes. "As you say my Thane." she spoke softly and crossed her arms, a mix between hugging herself and try to be smaller.

Their conversation ended for a time, the duo continued to make their way towards the ever growing field. It was a short time away from the keep. Men had worked hard to clear away the land and make it presentable for what soon would be a grand display for the Kingdom. Massive stands of wood had been pieced together, with the topmost row reserved for the King and Queen themselves. Below that, numerous rows for the attendants were in place.

Beyond the stands were yards, decorated in merriment for the events that were to come. Jousting, archery, and swordsmanship would echo out into the sky as the day went on. And whilst all of it would be set in the honour of the newest Hand of the King, only one man would be the true victor by the days end.

Of course, it was almost a pity that neither the Hand himself or his Witcher companion gave even a remote bit of care towards who that might be. The sooner the event drew to a close? The better in their eyes.

Sansa, Jon and Ayra had already taken their place in the stands. Ned sat next to them and Herian stood at the end not far away, standing straight and tall, hands tucked behind her back. She had worn her Witcher gear again today, with her steel sword on her back.

She watched dispassionately as the first two combatants took their places. Ser Hughs and Ser Clegane, she had a feeling that the now dubbed Ser Clegane was the numb skull she had beaten to a paste. The Witcher thought he looked remarkably well.

The elf rolled her eyes at the dull affair, though it became very suddenly less dull when the Knights clashed. And Ser Gregor's lance shattered apart and a large shard found itself in Ser Hughs throat. Herian tensed up. "Ned?" She asked her voice tight. "Speak swiftly, we may still need him."

Throughout the crowded stands, cries of horror filled the air. Men gasped in shock as Sir Hughs fell off his house and slammed onto the ground. The knight rested flat on his back with blood pooling atop his armour. Many shielded their eyes from the horrifying display. Off to the side though, Ser Gregor merely led his stead back to the opposite side of the arena. The massive brute didn't even spare the young man a meagre glance as he bled out across the ground. The colossal man was hidden behind thick black armour, so much so that you could barely see his eyes behind the holes in his box of a helmet.

At the horrific display, Ned shot up from his feet and turned to Herian. For a moment, the Stark said nothing. He glanced at the bleeding boy, debating on what to do. He could order Herian to help him, though that could draw a large amount of attention. How would the crowd react to the sight of a woman leaping down to the ground and suddenly heal a boy with his throat slit open?

On the other hand though, if Ned were to do nothing. Nothing at all, then there was only one reaction that he could be concerned with. That, of a young sir, going still with pale skin and blood filling his lungs from top to bottom. The matter was simple, it would be one of secrets lost, or of death found on such a day.

Soon enough, he made his decision.

In reality though? It was barely a decision at all.

"Go, quickly." he swiftly ordered, "Be quick and make as least a scene as you can."

Herian leaped down from the stands in two large jumps. The elf came to sliding stop on the far side of the boy, using her body to hide him from the crowds behind her, it would only be those on the royal stands to see what she was going.

With her left hand she ripped the shard from Ser Hughs throat then pressed her right had to it. Summoning up the magic came easily, she shoved the blue hued energy into the young mans neck, it glowed and weaved over her lower arm and hand.

The wound sealed in seconds, she raised her right hand over his lips then made a sweeping gesture with her left. Blood poured out of Ser Hughs mouth and she quickly directed it into the sand, with her right hand. He gave a gurgling cough as his lungs started to clear and he lurched upward in a spasm, blood splattered Herian's mask.

Herian turned him on his side quickly, propping him up against her knees as she kneeled. Setting her left hand just under his rib cage she forced more magic through him and used her right hand to turn his head downward.

The Knight coughed violently coughing up more blood with each wet hack. It took a full minute but the coughing subsided and he drew deep heaving breaths.

Herian's mind was going a hundred miles a minute. How the hell was she supposed to get him off the field without making a scene? She glanced over the knights armour, she ripped some of the chainmail out of the way and tore out a large section of his tunic and pressed it to his throat. "Hold this." She hissed, then hooked an arm under his and heaved him to his feet. "Healer!" The elf called out.

Three veiled women came rushing towards her and she handed Ser Hughs off to them. Herian drew a few deep breaths of her own, adrenaline fading. Her eyes widened and her bracelets started to burn into her flesh. The werewolf looked down at her gloves, her blood covered gloves. Human blood. "Shit, shit, shit." she whispered under her breath and the bracelets started to burn more. Her eye dilated, and she fought the urge to lick the blood of leather, her hand half raised to her lips.

With a herculean effort she walked back up into the stands and returned to her place, sitting this time. The silver continued to burn her wrists and she knew her eyes had changed. She tensed up as she felt the first tell tale shifts in her hands, her heart pounded in her chest. One more tiny action, and she knew she would lose it. Silver or no silver, the heart was the first thing to change.

All through the stands, whispers and mutterings filled the air. The stands were filled to the brim with words being passed between man or woman. Some worried for the young knight. Others were certain he would be a goner. His wounds were a bloody fountain for several minutes. No matter of healing could hope to bring the poor sod back from the brink. Or at least, that's what most thought. Others whispered about the elf's quick actions. So many of the crowd couldn't make heads or tails of what she had done, or if she had done anything at all. To most, it appeared as if she had merely run to the boy's side, held him, and called for the closest healer that could do a thing for the blooding lad. Such was all the crowd could make out, for the most part.

Closer to the top of the stands, Ned let out a small sigh and leaned back in his seat. Several events into the tournament and there hadn't been as much as a would. Some bruises sure, but that was to be expected. What wasn't though, especially in a simple joust, was to have one of the men have their neck split open like a stuffed pig. Sir Hughs looked as if the entire pole had been broken off in his neck like a broken tip of a spear.

Through his sigh, the Stark sent a small glare at the boy's foe. The colossal brute had already taken his leave of the area for the moment, obviously not interested in the slightest until he was called forth again. Inwardly, Ned shook his head. The choice to allow a man like him to compete was almost as foolish as the tournament itself. No. It was worse, much worse. The event wasn't even over yet and he had already nearly killed someone. Shivers crawled up the man's spine, the thought of what would happen if he lost was a horrifying one indeed.

Shaking such thoughts from his mind, Ned shook his head and turned to his companion. The elf sat nearby, sitting as if nothing had happened. As he saw her however, the Stark frowned. As always, the Witcher had herself concealed from everyone. You couldn't even get a clean look at her face thanks to the cloak and mask she always wore. But just by looking at her, something felt off. The woman's often calm stature twitched, almost violently. Her hands remained clenched shut, each finger painfully digging into the centre of her palm. Even her head hung forward with a slight, if noticeable tremble.

Ned frowned. Had something happened? Among the crowd, the Stark had little room to ask, yet regardless, something just felt off about the elf. For one reason or another.

Herian kept herself turned away from her Thane, she was tempted to burn the blood off of her gauntlets. She relaxed her hands then fisted them again, like a cat kneeding. Abruptly she shook her head violently. No, no, no. She set her hands down on either side of her and gripped the bench till the wood creaked. The Lycan kept her jaw clenched, she would be liable to bite her tongue or cheek of she relaxed, and fresh blood in her mouth was the last thing she needed.

The silver burned her wrists, she could smell the flesh blister. The elf spared a thought for what a mess her warms probably looked like right now. "N'chow." she hissed under her breath and tried to keep her breathing steady. Her gaze fluttered around the Lords, all she could hear was their beating hearts. Saliva pooled in her mouth, so so hungry. When would this forsaken contest be over?

As some attendees swiftly removed the wounded knight from the field, the contest began once more. New men with matching steeds strolled onto the field. Both took opposite positions from one another and readied their weapons. A sturdy shield and a long lance. The mounts kicked against the dirt ground in preparation. The crowd grew silent. Every person present held their breath back, as if borrowing it from someone nearby. With a sudden snap, both knights charged forward across the field. The mounts rushed along the wooden barrier and soon crossed in front of each other. In that moment, the air was filled with a sudden painful snap. Chunks of wood fluttered through the air, as did a loud thud.

In the stands, many who were present shielded their eyes. With the last bloody display, none were sure of what might happen next. But after a few moments and a lack of a horrified scream, the crowd opened their eyes. In the field below, one knight stood while another found himself back first on the ground. His shield, which was whole a moment ago, now had a large hole in its smooth surface. Upon the man's chestplate, there now stood a large dent, freshly made against the metal surface.

More importantly though, was a significant lack of blood.

In a burst of noise, the crowd cheered as loud as they had since the tournament had begun. The knight slowly rose from the ground and clutched his chest. The wound would bruise for sometime, that was for sure. With his defeat, the man calmly departed from the field with his stead while the victor showed off to the crowd. Many other matches followed, all with similar results. No sudden bodily wounds, no fountains of blood of any kind. Each ended with one man on the ground while the other stood, atop his stead for all to see. Some rounds required more than one pass each, but by the end of each, there was always one man standing.

As the hours passed, a brief time of rest between matches was held. In such a moment, some left the comfort of the stands to get anything they required. Some went to the bathroom for a much needed break. Others wished to grab a bite to eat, or drink. And yet others merely wished to leave the crowded stands and had a need to stretch their legs. Ned, among such a group, made his way off the stands and strolled about for some time. With a cold expression, the Stark gazed upon some of the combatants of the tournament. Some victorious and others not as much. But as the lord strolled about, he stumbled upon a nearby tent. It was large, extravagant and bore a familiar upon its surface.

What mattered more, through the entrance of the tent, a familiar voice reached the Stark's ears. A loud, bombastic, and rather irritated voiced in fact.

"Your mother was a dumb whore with a fat arse. Did you know that? Look at this idiot! One ball and no brains. He can't even put a man's armour on him properly!"

Stepping inside, Ned bit back a small chuckle.

"You're too fat for your armor."

Inside the massive tent, the King himself stood. The large set lord stood in the middle of the extravagant tent, half dressed with an attendant standing to his left. The poor lad held a suit of armour in his hands. A suit that was large, though not large enough for the King himself.

Robert shot the lord a look, "Fat? Fat, is it? Is that how you speak to your King? That was funny, is it?"

In silence, both men stared at each other. The poor attendant looked on in utter horror. His hands twitched, trembled. The breastplate came very, very close to slipping between his fingers more than once during those precious few seconds.

Then, as the two looked as if they were about to come to blows, they laughed. Robert doing the most while Ned chuckled to himself. The thick tension in the air became lessened, almost to the point where the boy nearly joined in on the fun.

Of course, that earned him a look from his King.

"Oh, it's funny, is it?" Robert asked.

Instantly, the boy clamped his mouth shut, "No, my grace."

Strangely, Robert now raised his eye to the boy. The King seemed less mad now, though no less scrutinizing with his gaze, "No? You don't like the Hand's joke?"

Off to the side, Ned rolled his eyes. The poor lad was shaking in his boots now. At any moment the King was going to get him to faint, if not wet himself first. Didn't help that he could notice a small smirk underneath Robert's beard.

"You're torturing the poor boy." he noted.

In a flash, Robert turned to his brother in arms and raised a brow. Slowly though, the King let out a huff and raised his chin, "You heard the Hand. The King's too fat for his armour! Go find the breastplate stretcher, now!"

The sudden volume of the King's words sent shivers down the young lads spine. Without waiting for but a moment, the young boy flew out of the tent with fear in his eyes. He barely paid any attention to what was around him. If he had through, he would have noticed the two men he passed on the way out.

Them, and the small smiles they held as he ran.

"The breastplate stretcher?" Ned asked, a brow raised.

Robert snickered, "How long before he figures it out?"

"Maybe you should have one invented."

Taking a hint, Robert wisely shook his head. If there was one thing he knew of what not to do, it was getting into a war of words with Ned. Out of all the wars he had fought in, that would be the one Robert was sure he'd lose quite dreadfully in.

"All right, all right. But you watch me out there. I still know how to point a lance."

Ned crossed his arms, "You have no business jousting. Leave that for the young men."

Robert turned around, his expression rather crossed. He threw his friend a rather irritated gaze, "Why? Because I'm king? Piss on that. I want to hit somebody!"

"And who's going to hit you back?"

The King turned around, his arms crossed. As if the man had to ask such a silly question, "Anybody who can. And the last man in his saddle... will be you!"

Now it was Ned's turn to raise a brow, "There's not a man in the Seven Kingdoms would risk hurting you." And as much as he might not want to admit it, that was the truth.

"Are you telling me those cowards would let me win?"

Ned settled on the King with a simple stare. It wasn't cold, nor hurtful. He merely looked the man straight in the eye, cleared his throat, and spoke his mind.

"Aye."

Silence. Throughout the tent, there was but silence. The King met his Hand's gaze, the two men staring at each other without a word. Neither moved, twitched, or even blinked. For what seemed like an hour, they merely stared, as if trying to beat each other at a little contest of their own to see who would blink first.

Then, the King held out a cup.

"Drink."

Ned shook his head, "I'm not thirsty."

The King rolled his eyes. As if he hadn't seen that coming a mile away. A blind and half deft fool could have seen that on the horizon, "Drink. Your King commands it. Gods! Too fat for my armour."

Hearing his lord's command, and his grumbling, Ned had little response left then but to take the drink. He did not inhale it like Robert would have, but he kept it all the same. With the drink in hand though, the Stark remembered a rather particular sight he found once entering his Lord's tent.

"Your squire... A Lannister boy?"

Robert nodded, his lips deep in his own drink, "Hmm... A bloody idiot... But Cersei insisted. I have Jon Arryn to thank for her. "Cersei Lannister will make a good match", he told me. "You'll need her father on your side." I thought being King meant I could do whatever I wanted. Enough of this! Let's go watch 'em ride. At least I can smell someone else's blood."

Ned raised a brow, "Robert?"

In his eagerness, the King began to stroll out of his tent, determined to walk among his people with all to see. Of course, the matter of being half dressed didn't seem to come to the King until Ned pointed it out just before he stepped outside.

Now, the matter of him caring all that much?

"What? Oh! An inspiring sight for the people, eh? Come! Bow before your King! Bow, you shits!"

That, was a matter far more concerning.

Herian had shifted herself into her meditative position and discreetly burned the blood of her gauntlets. Yes there should have been a hundred other things for her to be doing, but loss of control was not something she wanted to worry about right now.

Jon stopped by his ridged mentor on his way down from the stands.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Herian pulled off one of her gauntlets and showed him the blistered skin. "Did you finish that book I gave you yet?"

"Yes." Jon took her hand and lifted the silver band off her skin, and noted when it stopped burning. "You're a werewolf, you gave me that book. Because you wanted me to know?"

Herian hissed when he poked the raw flesh. "In part."

"Aren't werewolves supposed to go crazy after a month without." He stopped and sucked in a breath. "Feeding?"

"That would be correct, I am better than many but even I am…" she growled when Jon released her hand and the silver started to burn again.

"Losing control." Jon finished for her.

The Witcher nodded. "There is a blade in your father's room by the hearth, it has a wolf head pommel."

"Silver," Jon nodded. "I know the one, Steel for humans, Silver for monsters." he quoted from one of the many Witcher books he had been working his way through.

Herian had to smile at her student. "Collecting it might be wise. Keep it with you."

"Can't you leave?" The teen asked. "Father would understand."

"No. I'd rather not have to explain all the gory details to him. I don't think he," Herian looked away. "I would like to avoid him ever finding out. I've been called a monster enough, I'd rather avoid him becoming afraid of me as well." her voice turned stony. "I will master this."

Jon looked hard at his master. "He would understand, but I will get the sword, just in case."

"He wouldn't, we both know that, he doesn't even," Herian took a few deep measured breaths. "You have a better grasp of who and what I am. Not just a werewolf, but as a Dark Elf, or even a mixed species, as a Witcher. I say khajiit and you know what I am talking about. Turning into a giant blood thirsty wolf doesn't define me."

Jon sat on the bench beside her. "You could always teach him."

"There is barely enough time in a day to get all the Hand work done. I don't think he would be willing to sit down and read for pleasure." The Dark Elf shook her head exasperated. "I don't even know how to approach him anymore. Being as stubborn and closed off as he is, doesn't help. Trying to open up, doesn't help. I asked him earlier today if he had a preference of mask or no mask. Then he flinched and lied." She lifted up her mask and pressed her palm to her temple.

Jon frowned, he had long since gotten used to Herian features, sure her skin was the colour of ash, and she had sharper features. Musing on it he thought, but once you got over how alien she is, she was quite pretty. Inhumanly so, but beautiful. "I don't know, short of teaching him, maybe he just needs more time."

"I hope it's that simple. There are so many things I haven't even tried to tell him about. I am not pure Dunmeri, but I will still live for centuries! All I have to do is ask, and Ciri or my Grandmother will come and take me home." Her voice thickened over the last word. "But I gave him my word, that I would stay and protect him. Even if I can't really talk to him. I tell him stories, but to him they are just stories. He can never seem to believe me." she covered her face with her hands.

Jon was at a loss, he had seen Herian more sensitive side while she had been teaching him every day. But now he saw something he could really and truly understand, something so basic that everyone feels it at one point in their life. "You're homesick."

"How would you feel if everyone you ever knew or love was out of reach? Sure none of the Witchers that weren't family liked me because I am a werewolf. But Kaer Morhen is home. Even Morrowind, I served long there, I would stay with my aunt and her mate. I always had people who understood me around. Here it's always, always like going to a party but the moment I want to scratch and itch from a doublet. Everyone will cry monster!" she hunched over and hid in her cloak. "Even Eddard." The redhead spoke softly.

Jon shifted over and pulled the tired elf into a hug. "It will get better, even if I have to talk to Father myself."

Herian sighed and allowed herself to relax into the embrace. "Thank you Jon."

The raven haired boy gave her long last squeeze, then got up. "I'll go get that sword."

"Thank you, I will be here." The elf resumed her meditation while she waited for everyone to return.

After a short reprieve, the crowds swiftly returned to their seats. Men and women circled the jousting ring while the stands were filled to the grim. The King sat up on high next to his queen, thankfully clothed once again. On the other hand, Ned sat down lower towards the actual jousting. His daughter, Sansa sat at his right. With bright eyes, the young lady seemed much more entertained than her father. The Stark kept a cold, if bored expression as the activities once again.

Ned spared his daughter a glance, "Where's Arya?"

"Her dancing lessons."

Ned chuckled. The image of the young lass taking dance lessons was almost mind boggling. If that was truly what the girl was doing, her brothers would never let her live it down. Though if he had the choice in the matter, the Lord would much rather have been helping her with 'dancing'.

Soon enough, two armoured figured strolled into the field. One was an impossibly large man, an imposing sight of black steel, armoured straps of leather and a helmet that comprised the entirety of his head. The Mountain, Ser Gregor turned to the King and gave him a small bow before heading down one lane of the track. The colossal man earned many a frightful gaze from the crowd. None could forget the close call the monster of a brute had nearly caused earlier in the day. If one looked closely, they could still see the blood stains left behind when a lance had broken off against a poor lad's throat. The matter had been averted due to the timely save by a local elf, but a thick cloud hovered over the crowd much the same.

Whilst the crowd looked on in fear as the Mountain road on by, his foe brought on the near opposite reaction. The sun shined brightly off a set of silver armor, caressing one's eyes with a sudden shine. A man with long brown hair rode out into the field. He sat atop a large white horse, decorated in a bright clothe. His armour was silver, and shined brighter than the sun itself. The man smiled to the crowd, and brought glee to Sansa's face.

"The Knight of the Flowers!" she whispered to her father.

The shining knight rolled up to the stands, basking in the glow from the crowd. As he strolled forth on his mount, the knight caught a glimpse of Sansa's face and smiled. With a bright, red rose in hand, the graceful knight rode up to the young Stark and handed her the beautiful flower.

Sansa, in awe at such a notion, took the flower and smiled.

"Thank you, Ser Loras."

The knight smiled and offered a small token of a bow to the young Stark. Once made, the Knight marched over and took his place next to his fellow combatant, the Mountain. Both men took their place in front of the stands, opposite of the King himself. Robert looked down at the two fighters, one eagerly ready for battle while the other offered the lord a gracious bow. Ser Loras beamed with confidence, so much so that it nearly made Ned sick. Ser Gregor seemed the opposite. The massive man sat atop his mount and twitching with impatience. The leather reins groaned underneath his grip. If the preparations took any longer, then the knight might just began on his own accord.

Robert gazed down from his seat and regarded both men with a single nod. Once made, the two knights turned in place and rode to their positions. Ser Loras' smirk never left his face while the Mountain bounced atop his steed. The wall of armour and muscle made his way to one side of the field while his opponent did the same to the other. At each end, assistants stood by with the Knight's gear ready for them.

A single man handed the Mountain his gear, a wooden shield that barely fit around the man's massive arm. Ser Gregor struggled to fit the shield around his thick muscular forearm, his armour not helping things a bit. Opposite him, Ser Loras had too men accompany him onto the field. An assistant held his weapons while another handed the Knight his helmet. It was bright, shiny, like the rest of his armour and had what seemed like a horn atop its silver dome. Ned felt the need to gag at the sight of it. How the boy could even see through the armour was a miracle in itself.

Whilst he watched the pair of Knights ready themselves, Ned felt someone grab his arm. To his right, Sansa fearfully held her father's arm as the crowd's cheers grew louder with their excitement.

"Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him!" she pleaded.

Turning toward his daughter, Ned gave the girl a confused look. She looked at him with pleading, begging eyes, urging him to do something just in case. The Stark felt caught off guard, and could only mutter a slight 'hey' to his daughter before the crowd boomed overhead.

"I can't watch!" Sansa whimpered.

Off to the side, away from the Lord Stark and his daughter, a pair of men laughed. One, on a lower row, turned around and smirked at someone in a green cloak. Both had sly, thinly cut beards, and held smirks upon their faces.

The first man, coated in brown, smirked, "A hundred Gold Dragons on the Mountain!"

"I'll take that bet."

On the lower row, the man smirked, "Now what will I buy with 100 gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish wine? Or a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?"

"Or you could even buy a friend."

Down below in the field, both Knights took up their lances and turned to face each other. The crowd grew wild, cheers and screams filling the air. Sansa flinched and hugged her father tightly. The colossal behemoth of a man that was the Mountain filled her with fear. The bloodstain upon the ground reminded her of what had happened, and what could be the fate of the silver plated knight. As the two men readied themselves, she clenched her eyes and looked away.

"He's going to die…"

At such a tone, Ned looked to his daughter and placed his hand over her own. The Stark comforted the young lass with a strong, confident nod, "Ser Loras rides well."

Through the air, a loud trumpet exploded forth through the sky. The crowd's screams reached a fever pitch high, nearly overcoming the sound of the starting bell. Both Knights, with their shields forward and lances at the ready, gave their steads a swift kick to the side. The horses jerked upward and shot forward along one end of a long railing. Everyone watched, on pins and needles as the combatants charged at each other down a set of opposite lanes. The air grew thick, tense. The Mountain seemed like a black beast, roaring across the dirt with a long spear ready to tear out the throat of the man in front of him. Ser Loras was the near opposite, standing tall atop his mount with both eyes narrowed.

Both men rushed down their lanes until a sudden crack was heard. A loud, crackling rip tore through the air, striking at anyone who could hear it. Wood splintered, shields cracked, and as everyone looked on, a single figure fell from his stead and crashed into the ground below. Ser Loras stuck his larger foe and shattered his lance upon his shield. Such a blow slammed into the massive man and knocked him from his stead. Both the Mountain and his horse fell to the ground below. They both fell upon the railing that ran through the centre of the field, collapsing it as the silver knight rode on by.

As the duel came to a close, the crowd exploded into a frenzy. Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. No blood was spilt, not in this duel. But nearby, the two men rose from their seats. The one in green let loose a victorious shout while his companion looked on in disappointment.

"Such a shame, Littlefinger." the man in green smirked, unable to resist the taunting moment, "It would have been so nice for you to have a friend."

The other man, this 'LittleFinger' let out a small laugh. He looked no worse for wear despite his loss. Instead, he turned to his betting mate and smirked, "And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend?" He gestured to Ser Loras.

Lord Renly swiftly stopped smirking.

Petyr leaned forward to whisper Sansa and Lord Stark. "Loras knew his mare was in heat. Quite crafty, really."

Sansa said dejectedly. "Ser Loras would do that! There's no honour in tricks."

"No honor but quite a bit of gold."

As Ser Loras guided his horse back down the lane smiling broadly.

The Mountain roared. "SWORD!"

Herian's eyes snapped back open still shining gold. "I know that voice." She stood and took the few steps down to the lane, then glanced down to watch the brute of a man.

The crowd gasped as Gregor cleaved the head clean off his horse with one single mighty swing. Then advanced on Ser Loras, when another swing set the shining knight to the ground Herian stepped in.

She grabbed Ser Loras by the back of his armour and tossed him down the line.

Ser Gregor came to a lurching stop, Herian looked up at the huge man and thought. "Oh this is gonna hurt."

"YOU!" He bellowed and raised his sword to cleave her from top to bottom.

The lycan rolled her eyes and caught his arm at the wrist. Blood from the blade dripped down over her hand.

Herian breathed deeply twice, hungry gnawed at her belly. She would not let her wolf out, blood, pain and adrenaline be damned. In her attempt to remain calm the Mountain slammed his fist into her stomach.

She fell, it was like a bear had charged into her stomach, she would know what that was like. It had happened to her once, damn berserkers.

"Not so tough now!" He raised his foot, to make good on that wish to pound her ribs to dust.

Herian gave in, her heart expanded followed by her lungs and ribs, she managed to direct the change into her arms. She rolled out of the way just in time and flicked her gauntlets off, and allowed her arms and fingers to lengthen long sharp claws sliding into view.

The Mountian started another wide chop, this the when the elf caught his arm. Her fingers tightened till the metal buckled.

She growled. "Not very bright are you?" With her free hand she straightened it, then set it straight throw the Ser Gregor's chest plate, her claws cleaving through the plate with a screech. When she ripped her hand upward, the plate parting like butter leaving four long grooves.

With a roar she pulled him down toward her then sent her foot straight into his chest.

Last time it hadn't done much, this time it was long the constant pain of silver and her control that kept her wolf from taking over.

The Black Knight went flying, tumbling across the lane into the crowd that scrambled to get out of the way.

Herian picked up the claymore, then tossed it at the Lords feet, keeping it far from the brute who was picking himself slowly. She staked over slowly, her spine started to shift, she started for a moment and undid her armour. Allowing a bit more room for her chest to expand.

Gregor's eyes widened, only now noticing the shifts in the woman. He picked himself up and raised his fists.

Sandor Clegane, raced down from his post and scooped up the discarded claymore, running to put himself between the two combatants.

"ENOUGH!" Roared Robert.

Sandor kept his weapon at the ready, watching the Mountain and the Wolf.

Gregor glared at his brother, then turned his gaze to the half wolf. "We aren't done."

"Anytime." Herian growled, then stalked off making her way deeper into the Kingswood, when the crowd was slow to get out of the way she roared. "MOVE, BEFORE I REND YOU IN TWO!"

The humans scattered and Herian moved it a run when she was past the ring of humans.


	13. Chapter 13

Tourney Part Two

The humans scattered and Herian moved it a run when she was past the ring of humans.

The Dark Elf ran for several minutes before slumping next to a tree, with an enraged roar she dug a clawed hand into its bark and slashed it open. With a lurch she was moving again, stumbling through the glade, deeper and deeper till she found the Godswood, only just recognizing it in the haze of a half shift. At the base of the huge faced oak, she tore off the rest of her armour, even the silver bracelets and gave in.

This shift was not like the one she performed at Winterfell, there she had been well fend, almost at ease. This she had been fighting for months, there was no smooth shape changing. Bones warped, and grew out of order, fur started to grow before the limbs had settled. The sounds were sickening, wet bloodly crunching. Fangs growling and lengthening, changing into razor sharp points, slick with salva.

Herian's mind was fogged over with pain and hunger, and when the change was finally done, she rose into a towering behemoth and ROARED. A near splitting, sound that had put terror into mortal hearts for thousands of years.

The huge timber wolf turned its gaze toward the tourney grounds, before shaking its head and starting off away from the sweet smelling humans. It's gate was long and it kept low to the ground, hunting. Roaming farther and farther away, when it caught the scent of a boar, the poor beast didn't stand a chance.

The howl caused everyone to jump and a few woman to screamed in terror. Jon dashed down from the stands, a whistle brought Ghost from out of the forest. He scooped up Herian's gauntlets knowing the woman would be annoyed if they got lost. Her silver blade on his shoulder.

Eddard was quick on his heels, "Jon?" he asked eyeing the silver blade.

"Herian had a feeling something like this might happen. No one should follow her, the book she gave me said that she is unlikely to calm down till tomorrow." Despite his words set off after his mentor.

Ned kept with his son silently, wondering what just had happened.

"Hold." Robert said walking to caught up with him. "I will come as well, I want to know what that was. What have you brought into my Kingdom Ned?"

Jon glared at the King but nodded sharply. The King quickly called an end to the Tourney for the day, then the three set off.

Herian's books had a great many things in them, one thing that he had learned just from being around the Witcher, was how to see. So when there was a scuff in the ground, or a stick broken a bit to violently, he knew they were on the right track.

It was Robert however that gave them concrete proof. "Fucking hell." He uttered striding past Jon to run his hand over the tree that Herian had scared. The tree still oozed from the long gashes, they were very deep, even valarian steel would have trouble matching the depth.

Jon scanned the area before them, he could see the little things that she had done in her haze.

Deeper they went till they found the Gods tree, Ned sucked in a breath as they reached its base.

Blood was still wet on the crumpled leaves, large long claw marks had been carved into the ground. Jon found her gear tucked under a root, after a moment he pulled Herian's silver blade from his back and offered it to his father. "Silver." He said.

Ned took the light blade and drew it from its fine red sheath, he had never handled one of Herian's blades before or even seen on up close. The blade glowed when he drew it, it's runes glowed in Elder Speech, its hilt was a V upwards along the blade. The blades was much thinner than Ice but he had a feeling it wasn't made to cleave through plate and leather. He could easily weld it with one hand, though it had room for two.

While Ned was admiring the blade, Jon picked up the steel blade that Herian and stored away. Drawing the blade he looked between the two, "That's interesting," he walked over and showed the blade to Ned. "they have the same runes."

"Quite." the Stark mused. To the side, Robert shook his head carelessly. The king gave little of a care towards whatever might have been on the piece of steel. Instead, he kept his gaze on their surroundings. Along the treeline, the shadows loomed over the tree men.

Herian watched from from the a distance away, there hearts pounding in her ears. She shook her head and slinked around them, long striding steps, rolling muscle. Her wolf wanted to eat them. The elf struggled against that urge, her snout was still covered in boar blood. Jon was here as was Ghost, they could keep Ned safe, though it was the elder Stark that had her blade.

With a low growl she staked into the clearing.

Robert gave a startled shout as his eyes snapped to the huge timbre pelted beast. It was huge, much larger than him, he could tell even as it approached them lowly on all fours. It's lips blood red and snarling.

Jon quickly stepped between her and the King. "Herian," he asked calmly, despite his fear, "what did you eat?"

"You're talking to that thing!" Robert looked in shock to the boy, then to Ned. "That is your bodyguard?!"

Ned was about to reply when the wolf shifted to stand upright, towering over the three of them. The sight caused Ned to pause, he only vaguely remember what her wolf shape had looked like in Winterfell, but now she looked bigger, her chest was larger, he could see it moving with every huge breath. She also looked, malnourished, far too thin, muscle and nothing else.

Eat, eat, eat, rip out their hearts! Herian shook her head as her wolf pleaded. She growled looking down at Jon, her blade glowing in his hand. "Hrrr, hrrr, boar." She managed to force the word through her wolven lips.

"Are you better now?" The young Stark asked, trying to recall as much of the information on werewolves from the book as he could.

She shook her head violently and moved away from them, quick sharp moments, then covered her ears.

Jon took a deep breath and tried to calm his heartbeat, calling on her teachings. "Calm down." He said to his father and the King. "You're only making this harder."

"Calm, calm?!" Robert bellowed. "How I am supposed to be calm when faced with a monster!?"

Herian roared as her wolf lunged forward, the elf managed to divert the lung into the ground, slamming into the earth.  
"See? You're not helping, calm down or leave." Jon couldn't believe he was talking to a King like this, but if Herian ate Robert, well he figured a little rudeness would go a long way right now.

Even Ned felt his hand twitch toward his majesty. Either his wine had made the man's head soft, or he had simply forgotten that it wasn't wise to bare your teeth at an animal. Especially one who could rip your throat out before you could even blink.

Robert swallowed thickly, but did try to calm himself, wishing for wine.

Jon turned his attention back to Herian who remained lying in the earth, her chest heaving like great bellows. "Can you revert?"

"Hrr, no, hrrr." Herian growled and remained on the ground the smell of dirt helped somewhat.

Robert flinched, "It can talk. Why in hell's name can it talk?! Ned! What is that!? Tell me or I swear I'll head back and-"

Just as the words sought to escape the King's mouth, their exit became blocked. Ned whipped around faster than his lord could see and clamped his hand atop Robert's mouth. The Stark glared hellfire at the large lord, his eyes more fitting of most ice that could be found far to the North. Sweat dripped down the man's forehead, not for fear of what was in front of him, but due to the glare being settled squarely at his face.

"No more." Ned spoke, his tongue chilled as steel, "Be silent for this moment forward or else I will silence you myself!"

In his keep and in his land, Robert was the King. Yet in this field and in front of this tree, they were men. And by steel holstered on his belt, Ned was growing more than a bit tired than the dribble constantly sprouting from his lord's gap.

Getting his point across, Robert turned to his son and gave him a nod. If he had to put even a King in his place so Jon could handle this matter, than the Stark would.

Jon was racking this brain for what to do, finally he decided to take a page from his masters book. "What happened?"

Herian dug her claws into the earth and refused to look at him. "Hrrr, to much, blood, to much faith, hrrrrr hmmmm, frrrressh, tassty. Humman, horrrsee, fight, hungrrr. Soo long." She snarled lips pulling back to show off long glistening teeth.

"So you guessed right when you sent me for your sword. But what about your silver?"

The golden wolf slowly drew an arm up for him to see, setting down by her head. A large angry red band of burned flesh, oozing blood covered her arm from wrist to about five centimetres up. "Burrrneed, burrred, hrrrrr, hurrrt, helped, to much, half changed, to much, couldn't pull it back. Hrrrr hadd to frrreee it."

"I understand, but why can't you shift back?" Jon asked he wanted to wrap something around the burns as it was they were getting dirt in them, but causing her more pain was not a good idea right now.

"Tooo longg, hrrrr… months, hungrrry, wolf free."

Behind Ned's glove, the King said something. For most the jumble of words sounded akin to a muffle or so, nothing to really take note of. To Ned on the other-hand, the lord could distinctly make out a question. It was a simple one, and one that made him roll his eyes at regardless.

The question burrowed down to, 'Did it say wolf?'.

Without removing his hand, Ned turned to his son and tried to make sense of whatever was going on, as strange as it sounded. Very strange indeed.

"If I were to make an assumption," he mused, "Whatever is happening, it is happening because she put off doing...something, for far longer than she should have?"

Out of the jumbled growls and hisses that were tangled in within Herian's words, even Ned could pick out a small pattern. Jon looked as if he understood it a lot more than his father. It was like one had take to reading an entire book on a subject while another merely skimmed it.

Turning to the man, Jon spared a small glance to the creature in front of them, and gave a nod. With that, Ned lowered his head and let out a small sigh.

"Wonderful."

Herian growled at the Stark, eyes focusing on the new speaker. She half rose from the ground, attention coming to focus on the blubberson King.

"Hey." Jon snapped his fingers, forcing the wolf to shift its attention back to him.

The wolf growled at the three of them, Jon could only watch as its gaze flitted between them. It rose, raising a clawed hand.

Herian grabbed the reins again, forcing herself to the ground again. She glanced at her left arm, the oozing burns, then before Jon could say anything raised it to her mouth and bit down.

She whined deep in her throat and slammed her free fist into the dirt. Blood filling her mouth, after a long moment she carefully let go of her arm, her mind slightly clearer again.

The humans could only watch as the new wounds healed in seconds.

"Is there anything that we can do?" Jon asked. "This isn't a curse, so I don't know if any of the Witcher methods would work, or help. The book you gave me mentioned bellonda and wolfsbane. But I don't even know if they grow around here and we definitely don't have carnis root."

Herian shook her head and forced out a few more words. "Time, hrrr hrrr, tomorrrow, dawn. Come full cirrle. Kingswood, hunt."

"Kingswood?" Ned muttered.

Out of everything said, now that was something Ned could understand. Kingswood was a forest right outside of King's landing. It was vast, untapped and went on for what seemed like miles. Trees reached toward the skies in such land, with bright leaves and more wildlife than a single person could possibly count.

It just so happened to be the King's Private hunting grounds too.

Just the mention of it made Robert groan. It didn't take much for the King to realize that however this might involve his hunting grounds, then he wouldn't like it. Not one bit.

Ignoring the King, Ned turned to his son, hoping for a bit more insight as to whatever the two might have been talking about. If he understood what was going on, then it would be easier to keep Robert from blowing his stack once it was all over.

Herian lifted her head and nodded at Ned, causing Jon to turn to his father. "Telll... him."

"Okay." Jon said softly, then stood and turned to his father. "Herian is what her people call a werewolf, depends who you ask, but mostly call it a curse. Once a month a normal werewolf has to shape change into this," he gestured at the wolf "but Herian is unique," Jon rubbed the back of his head. "Maybe that is not the right word, let's say practiced. She doesn't have to change at all, in theory. The book she gave me said the longer one is a werewolf the better there control becomes. The downside that she hasn't told you, is that if a werewolf doesn't shift and eat once a month it affects their health. New wolves have to eat human flesh, thankfully Herian is practiced enough to be able to get by on animal. She hasn't hunted anything since she came to our world. At least not the diet she is used too."

Jon shrugged. "Remember how she would say that she is very used to killing? Coming from a world of bandits and monsters? The subtext that she didn't tell you was that she would also ate them. It is what kept what happened today, from happening." The book had been very blunt about this fact of werewolf life, so it didn't bother Jon as much as it would have otherwise. "Basicly she has been starving herself since she got here and between the human blood, adrenaline, and then the horse. It was all a bit too much, she removed herself from there before she did anyone any real harm.

Silence.

Throughout the forest, the air grew silent. No wind to flutter through the air. Leaves were lifeless and the bark on nearby trees were bitter and rough. Amongst it all, two men stood without woods. Ned's hand slipped free from Robert's mouth. The Lord of the North and the King of the seven realms were shocked beyond words. What words could either man even think of at this time? Whatever the truth either could have come up with by this point was shattered the second Jon finished his speech. Around the duo, the trees felt five times as tall and loomed over everyone like the towers in King's Landing. The air was thick and without a hint of reprieve anywhere near.

Robert took a step back, his mouth hanging open. The King's eyes focused solely on the creature in front of him. He couldn't believe, nor comprehend the words that had been said. It had to be some kind of trick, hadn't it? In all the land, there were odd creatures and even more strange practices. Memories arose of that revolting head Ned had shown him back in Winterfell. He hadn't believed it at first, instead opting for an overly rotten head of some poor woodland creature. Out of everything, that had made much, much more sense than what he had been told. But now? After all of this? The monster seemed all the more real.

Standing beside the King, Ned simply stared onward with a wide expression in his eyes. Unlike his lord, the Stark was less inclined to so easily brush off what his son had told him. Since Herian had arrived, the Lord had noticed things. Strange things, bizarre things that could never make sense otherwise. The monstrous Leshin head, the magical blade that Jon lugged around with him in recent days. All were odd, even up in the North.

The lord felt his arms drop, dangling at his sides. Out of every single strange thing, even the wall itself back up near Castle Black, this was an eye opening experience. In all other cases, he would have brushed such things off. It had to be a tale, a mythical creation out of the mind of some old man who was getting on in his years. Like the White Walkers or tales of the Long night. Still, as the lord gazed at the creature before him, he could not but help think. What else was true, what else could be out there. If this was true…

Ned held his head. It was almost too much.

Herian whined and very slowly crawled along the ground toward her Thane, she stopped just a meter away, then rolled over exposing her chest and belly to the Lord. The wolf let her head loll to the side and tried not to growl in her words. "Didn't tell you, knew you wouldn't understand. Planned to wait out next change, got shackles, was going to hide, wait."

The Stark raised his head. For a moment, Ned settled his gaze on the creature in front of him. Her expression, while different due to her transformation, still held something familiar. Her eyes, the way her face looked while gazing up at him. Such an expression was not that of a wild beast, as the King may believe.

Ned let out a sigh, and shook his head, "But, as they say about the best laid plans…"

If the Stark knew anything, it was that at the flip of a coin, even the most well thought out idea could be flipped on its head so easily. May it be a random thief, a sudden thunderstorm, or a mad knight lopping the head off his own horse. Whatever you had in mind, it could be thrown aside by the slightest breeze at any moment.

Well at least he wasn't trying to take her head off, though she would have to yet keep an eye on Robert. Though Ned was the one with the sword that would actually hurt. Herian was content to lie still for a while longer, humans were easy to spook. Carely she spoke. "Couldn't understand the elf, wasn't ever going to tell you about the wolf."

Jon sheathed the sword, and was very glad Herian had given him that book. He felt sorry for her, he felt sorry for her, always trying, never really succeeding. The book hadn't just given an overview on all the interesting facts about werewolves, it also was very critical about how they were treated. It didn't surprise him in the least that she had gotten shackles, they were probably silver plated to boot.

"Well, could have tried," Ned muttered. His words felt just a touch bitter, but it did not last. Herian had a point earlier about secrets. If he had just taken her a bit more seriously back then, perhaps this might not have ever happened. It all could have been avoided, without making the King nearly ruin his trousers.

Shaking his head, Ned dismissed such thoughts. Now was not the time to focus on what could have been. All that would earn was regrets, and Eddard Stark would not have regrets! Now, the matter to focus on was Herian, and what could be done at this very moment. There was still the commotion that was surely going on back at the tournament. The longer such was dragged out, the more chaos there would be to deal with back at the field.

Panic, chaos, and even more parchments laying across his desk.

"But, at the very least," he sighed, "This was perhaps not the worst method of revealing such a condition to me. Certainly, could have chosen a worse time."

Herian lurched to her feet and moved out of reach of his sword. "How." She snarled. "How to explain to you?! Hrrrr… I eat," she shook her head violently. "Ate people, hrrrr. You don't even trrry. I trry and trrry, neverrr get thrrrough. I trrry to be bettterrr, sssharrre time with you. Be morrrree than what duty calls. You don't even want to sssee me, have me hide, fearrr me." She rose stand, huge lungs heaving. A roar bubbled up in her chest, she bit into her arm again to quell it.

The Stark pinched his eyes shut, "Yes, I'll concede. This is my fault. You have tried to open up to me, tried to get me to listen. I ignored you, that is my failing."

So many things had helped distract from what was in front of him. His duty as a Lord and as the King's hand. The death of someone so close to him, the choice to return home and check on those few that remained close to his heart. All reasonable decisions in one hand or another, but they were distractions as well.

Had it been so hard to open his ears to what she was saying? To acknowledge the exact words that were coming out of her mouth? Maybe pick up on the subtle hints that laid underneath their talks at night? Were they so expertly hidden that only one with a keen mind could ever hope to uncover them? No, they weren't. Ned simply chose not to, instead focusing on what he thought was more important at the time. Surely she could wait till the next day, an hour or so later perhaps? Unreasonable? Again, it wasn't.

Regardless, such a failing fell upon only one person. The Stark himself.

Herian relaxed slightly and removed her arm from her mouth, the wounds healed slower this time. Watching her Lord, then turning her gaze back to the tourney grounds. "I will come with, as I am. That horrse is probably still therrre… wouldn't want it wasted." She retrieved her clothing from the root. "Let them know I protect you, if I am to be feared. Let them see what it is they should fearrr. Be betterrr after the horrrssse."

"N-now hold on a moment." Robert muttered, finally speaking up.

The King had been silent the moment Jon had finished his story. He had been stumbling with what revelations the boy had told. His mind spun around like a barrel full of wine, unable to completely comprehend such a tale. Though at the mention of retracing their footsteps, returning to the tournament field, where there would be surely people still. The lord decided to put his foot down at that.

"You cannot be serious. We cannot just march our way back to the fields and reveal all of this to the people." he laughed, thinking this was but a weird joke, "I barely can understand what has been told here, but them? That crowd? How will you think they will take it?!"

Ned rolled his eyes, "My lord, think of it this way. We may either hold off on this, like I had before, and see if we can keep this under wraps. Or, we may reveal the truth. Not the entire truth, but a partial sum."

With a cautious step, Ned turned to his majesty and settled upon him with a focused, icy glare, "Because think of this. Would you rather have your people think that there is a creature, trained and protective over myself and you...or wait until the next time something akin this happens and allow your people to discover her, untamed?"

"Because I can assure you," he growled, "It will look better for all of us, if the people don't think that there is some rabid beast on the loose in the city, under your care."

Herian felt a pleasant warm feeling toward Ned, at least he learned fast. "This only happened because I was trrying to hide. I am no differrrent than you, I just have more than one skin to wear." she offered her gear to Jon, who took it quickly catching on to her idea. Then she dropped to all fours. "Besides, I can play tame." Months of stress flowed away, and the calm heart beats of Jon and Ned settled her wolf somewhat.

Nodding, Ned sent Robert a knowing look, "You see? This can solve much of our problems. Instead of having the people wonder and whisper about what had happened, we can show them something instead."

It did help that all of the money that Ned was sure they would have to spend in order to silence all of those whispers could go to something far more important. Silencing rumours was an expensive matter after all.

Robert flinched. The King was still unsure. Rolling back into the city with a gigantic black haired beast following behind them would surely cause some screams. The fact that she wanted to devour the remains of the Mountain's steed didn't help things either. Would King's Landing really be known for the city that held bloodthirsty beasts within its walls?

The King sighed. Then again, what choice did he have?

Herian started off toward the tourney grounds remaining on all fours, it was an odd for her as usually she only did this when really running. But after a few steps she figured out a nice smooth walk. Jon was quick to follow, Ghost on his heels, the direwolf had mostly watched the werewolf. Jon couldn't help but want to study her. This is where she got her inhuman strength, speed and senses from, and once long ago she said he could have it, if he wanted it.

Ned kept to her left side, keeping pace, with Robert falling in last. As they approached the groups, Herian slowly slightly, put her head under Neds hand, then walked till it settled on her neck.

The Stark had almost jumped away from her, but was quickly distracted by the soft fur under his hand. The outer layer was coarse, but under was soft, he could feel the roll of muscle under it.

As odd as it was, the first thought that came to Ned's mind was that of a wolf. Not that much of a stretch to be certain, but it was true. Like one of the pups he had allowed his children to take on that fateful day, only much larger, smarter, and dangerous to boot.

In one part of his mind, Ned almost had the urge to chuckle. That day, every member of the Starks were blessed with a new companion. His sons and daughters were now bonded with a direwolves, the symbol of their house. Save for two, direwolves matched their family in pairs.

Though now that he thought about it, in an ironic and turn about way, if he so choose, Ned could consider himself in the equation too. Only his was much more on the level than his childrens, and far more snappy if she was in a mood.

Herian couldn't help but grin when the humans they had left came into view, the Queen and Lords bickering, trying to decided to send someone in.

Jon quickly slipped away quickly with Ghost, while they were going to show her off, keeping the elf and the wolf separate for a little while, might be wise. Or at least not broadcasting that they were the same entity.

Robert shifted to walk beside Ned, but as far away from the werewolf as he could manage.

"Out of all the ways this day could have proceeded, this was not one that I had honestly considered when I awoke this morning." the King mused.

Ned rolled his eyes, "I don't think any of us did, my Lord."

"I simply thought it would be a day of merriment, with a slew of knights competing against each other in an attempt to claim victory and some gold while I sipped on some wine. That is all. Could have been so very simple."

The Stark shook his head, "Your majesty, I'm sure you're picking up on the matter that the moment I accepted your proposition, things have been anything but simple."

Robert sighed, "I suppose."

Herian sniffed the air, the horse was still where it had fallen, her stomach gave a pang of hunger. But she restrained herself, mission one, act like a pet, mission two, eat the horse. Oh she loved being a werewolf, life was so much simpler. So she would wait till Ned said she could have at it.

As the four made their way through the forest, Robert shook his head, "So, shall I ask what the plan for when we arrive? As I'm sure I don't need to say how this will look like."

The sight of a crowd, letting out ear shattering screams filled their minds. Each could picture the people of the city exploding in fright the moment they returned. The sight of a gigantic wolf-like creature was a haunting one for anyone who didn't know why she was there. The people would go into a panic. Guards would be called, swords would be drawn, and near hysteria would be as common as the food upon the dining room table. Robert could feel a headache coming on just by the mere thought of it.

"The two of us will arrive first. You, and myself." Ned noted, "We will make room for her to move towards the horse. The crowd will panic, but will surely calm when they realize that she is of no threat to them, just so long as they don't do anything foolish."

People are always prone to do foolish things, but at the very least, none would do anything to provoke a colossal beast to attacking them.

Or at least, that was what Ned assumed.

Herian liked this plan, after all, the horse was involved.

Sure enough when they drew close to the grounds, when grass changed to sand.

First there was a scream, then the sound of blades being draw and Herian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The Lords cowering behind their guards, the guards shaky in their knees. Steeling her resolve she made sure to keep her mouth shut.

The entire tournament field had, thankfully, cleared significantly since their departure. All around the field, the crowds had shrunk down to a small handful of people, each vaguely curious to find out what had been going on. Surely something was up if the King and his hand had to chase after someone and head deep into the forest. Regardless, none had expected the King to return, and with such a creature arriving first.

Knights and guards formed a barrier between the beast and the nobles. Weapons were drawn and shields were at the ready. Some men stood tough, hardy at the sight of such a creature. Others though looked about ready to turn tail and run for their lives. If someone listened close enough, you could even hear the clanking of their armour was their legs shook against each other. Up in the stands, the nobles were doing little better. Most were terrified beyond belief. One or two had even taken the leap off the back of the stands and ran for what they assumed was their lives.

Robert spared Ned a look. He would not say that he told his good friend so. That would be rude for the King to do in front of his people, especially as scared as they were. No. Instead, the Lord merely let the situation speak for itself.

Herian tried not to grin, it was really really hard. Sansa was the one that broke the tension. "Father what was that?" Then as she pushed through the crowd she spotted the golden wolf. "Oh? You found one too." Lady, as the pups were always with there Starks. The pup gave a happy yip and wasted no time, zipping over to rub its cheek against the Lycans'.

The larger wolf, rumbled happy and turned its huge head to half hug the pup.

Lady was very chatty, going on and on about the all the strange noises, scents, and that there was this big tasty look horse that Sansa wasn't letting her eat.

Herian found the young pup very amusing, she didn't normally get this much from any of the pups. Usually it was just enough to communicate their meaning, whole conversations, generally not.

Slowly, Herian moved out from under Neds, hand picking her way carefully toward the horse. Lady still bouncing around her, the pup helped to ease the guards and those behind them. After all pups were cute, and they were common place where the Starks were involved.

Once at the horse, Herian snapped the girth of the horse with a careful bite.

Lady sat near bouncing, a pleading look on the pups face. Herian gave a low barking chuckled; grew a large cut across the horses belly, then stepped to the side to allow the pup access.

Lady leaped to it, happy to have fresh meat, even if it was a bit cold.

"Lady!" Sansa said and moved towards her pup.

Ned caught her arm gently. "They are wolves, better to let them have this. Than have to have meat brought to them later."

Herian conducted herself with a bit more restraint, though her much larger jaws sliced through the ribs of the horse, rather than having to go around. Though she couldn't stop herself from rumbling happy as she tore into the animal's flesh. To be full, she couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

The two wolves made short work of the horse, leaving the guts and bones. Still the process only took a few minutes.

The werewolf had to resist laughing then Lady, her belly swollen waddled back toward Sansa. Herian side tracked the pup for a moment to lick the blood and gore off her face before allowing the very full happy pup to return to her Lady.

"Take that to the butchers." Ned said, gesturing at the mostly ravaged corpse. "I am sure they can use some what is left."

The few servants that remained rushed off to find a cart.

Ned turned to Robert. "Till the finals and the melee." He flicked his fingers and Herian inserted herself under his hand again. The pounding hearts of the terrified men and women were significantly less tempting on a full belly.

They made their way back to the Tower of the Hand, Sansa and Lady in toe. Allowing for the city to breath easy for a day, seemed like the wise thing to do and tomorrow the distraction would begin again.

He returned to his office, new papers lying in wait.

Herian picked a corner, but had to partly curl herself to fit, then rested her head on her hands and promptly fell asleep.

That made Ned pause for a moment, he frankly couldn't remember the last time he had seen Herian sleep. After living with her, one would think he would see it all the time. Though of late, she came in after he had gone to bed and rose before him. Her spot by the fire, exactly how it had been the night before.

Ned made his way over in his desk and sat down. He barely spared a glance at the parchment that sat on his desk. They wouldn't be going anyway for a few hours, the bloody signature sucking vampires could wait for a bit. The Stark had much more on his mind at the moment than he could bare, let alone some paperwork. The scraps of paper wouldn't even make a mild distraction if he sought them as such.

Ned leaned his head back. He let out a small sigh, something that would be unfitting for the icy lord of the North. But after the day's events, a sigh was the best thing the Stark could mutter. So much had happened in such a short time. In a way, it was like a battlefield. The blades smashing against shields, the arrows soaring through the sky like birds. Anything and everything could happen in a flash. You could be dead before you even felt the pain of a dagger being jammed into the underside of your throat. Such a comparison felt right when thinking of the last few hours. So many things, so fast. Each had left his head swirling in confusion.

The tournament. That blasted tournament. Ned gripped the sides of his chair and let out a seething growl. It all had began with that blasted tourney that Robert had refused to even consider doing something less flashy. A feast? A dinner? Maybe a small party? Could any of those been just as good? The Stark huffed. Of course not. This was Robert he was talking about. The man couldn't do subtle if his life depended on it. One look at the man's gut and you could tell that going overboard was his speciality. So of course with the news of his new Hand of the King arriving, the lord himself just had to set up some kind of massive event, with money and food for all who wanted to attend. It would be grand for the people, and a stab in the gut for the Kingdom's already swelling debt.

A sigh escaped the lord's lips. If only that had been the worst of it. If the day had gone on without a hitch aside from the tournament itself, Ned would have been happy. His King, his daughters, and even the people would have been all so happy. Everything would have been fine. Yet like a dagger being shoved into his back, nothing was ever that easy.

It had started with that poor lad. Ser Hughs if Ned could recall. The lad had the unfortunate luck to face the Mountain himself in his first event in jousting. One quick exchange and the lad would have bled out through his neck if Herian hadn't jumped in to save him. A grand display on her part, and the boy owed the elf more than his thanks. Naturally however, that was simply the beginning of the problems. Ned shook his head. How could he have let things go on like they had? The Mountain being a sore loser? He should have seen that coming a mile away. One could see a dragon flying overhead and still the Mountain's actions would have been easier to notice. If the Stark had, he would have went to the King and spoken up. A horse wouldn't have had to lose it's head if that were the case, and the chaos would have been left well enough alone.

Ned held his head.

For a moment, Ned turned his head and spared the sleeping Witcher a glance. If he had stopped the Mountain from blowing his stack, Herian might have been able to keep things under wraps. She had control, Ned knew she did. Out of all his men, the elf was one who did not let her emotions and desires run wild unless she wanted them to. But the blood, the stench. It filled the air, and had proven far too much for the already struggling elf.

"Such a mess." Ned muttered.

In but a moment, everything had been revealed to Ned, and the King as well. Just how deep the rabbit hole went with Herian. Since his son showed him that monster's head, he had known something was up with the Witcher. What did her profession mean, truly mean? Just far far did things go, how deep did it go. Whatever Ned had thought, his expectations were surely nowhere near what they really had been. What Herian was, what it meant. All the Silver, the Moon, and all that blood. The second it happened, everything seemed to click.

For a moment, Ned leaned forward and closed his eyes. Both his hands held each side of the man's head, his fingers massaging the rough surface of his forehead.

How could he have been so blind, so forgetful? Herian had always wanted to make things a bit more personal between the two of them, and Ned had never once considered it. Maybe he was getting the context wrong? That's what he told himself anyway. Recent losses aside, there was no denying it. The great lord of the North had been blind. Blind to so much in front of him. How much could have been avoided if he simply paid attention? If he opened his ears to a few words every night. Would the day have been different? Would Herian's change have been a bit less shocking to him and the King?

Ned shook his head. No. Robert would have still come close to soiling himself. But again, he would have known. He could have told his lord, explained things a bit more gently, and not have left everything to his son to explain. Eddard Stark had known nothing, and it was his own damn fault.

Raising his head, Ned slid his fingers down the sides of his face and side. The mighty Stark raised his gaze and settled it out a nearby window. The day was long gone, now only stars hung high in the sky, as did the sight of a wonderful moon. So bright, so flawless. In a few hours, it too would be gone and instead, replaced with that of a new day and new matters to contend with.

The Lord of the North bit back his tongue and gazed out into the night sky.

Whatever the day would have been earlier, it was gone. The tournament was, for the most part, over and while most still had little idea what had happened, Ned was sure there were new faces that knew the tale. Robert was a fine King in ways, but he had a mouth like no other. Soon, there would be more questions, statements, and more blame to be thrown around than blood itself.

Ned sighed.

The day had ended, and like Fall, whatever peace Ned had hoped for after the tournament that had been so casually held in his name would soon be gone as well. Like the Winter that was sure to be arrive in due time, new matters would be at his footsteps just as soon. More than simple paper, but no less headache inducing.

All Ned could hope for then, would be that, like Winter, he and his family could withstand whatever storm was on the horizon. Be it from the King, his staff, his Queen, or whatever other may still be lurking in the walls of such a land.


	14. Chapter 14

**Nudity, though not graphic or intended to be sexual. Plus this is game of thrones, if you have a problem with that kind of thing, why are you here?**

Magic and Truth

Ned awoke to a quiet crunching sound, sitting up he watched as the wolf before his fireplace returned to the form of a young woman, the process was slow and didn't wake her. It was the very stroke of dawn.

She gave a sleepy murmur, rolled over grabbed the blanket she kept there and tossed it over herself. Though in her sleepy throw she failed to get it over her shoulders, so it hung, covering one breast, leaving the other completely exposed. Ned pulled his gaze away to view the rest of his bodyguard; she was sprawled out, one leg straight, the other lying out to the side, her an arm under her pillow the other out the side.

The Stark had to chuckle at her face, her lips were parted, she was half smiling, her hair a tossed mess. That was one way to be more open with him, a persons true self was revealed when they slept. The sprawled and happy form suited her greatly. With a smile of his own he went back to sleep.

When next he woke the sun was high and it was time to get ready for the day. He got up slowly not really looking forward to the day, though one look at the elf made him grin and shake his head.

The sun was illuminating her skin, the elf had thrown the blanket away in her sleep, a hand clutching her pillow. Now on her side, but equally sprawled out.

Ned couldn't help but take in details, he was male after all and the first and only time he had seen her in a state of undress was when Jon had found her in the woods. Silently he got up from his bed and took the steps to stand a small ways away from her. He started at her head.

The blood red locks curled around her and tumbled down her back, reaching her lower shoulder blades. It was much darker than Cats and it curled much more enthusiastically. He resisted touching to see if it was as soft as it looked. Her ear twitched and he saw how it was pointed and slightly narrower than a humans, she had very little ear lob but he could see how the muscles under it were different, allowing it to move slightly.

He had see her eyes often enough to know how feline they were, though the dark red colour usually distracted him, her nose was small and very slightly curved outward, but again had just enough cat to be recognizable, if only in echos of shapes. Her lips were small and thin, but it suited her, as did the high soft cheek bones.

The Stark allowed his gaze to travel down her neck, there he noted very faint scars, like something with large teeth had bitten her, but the size of the bite was human. He shuddered to think of something that could hurt her like that. That was interestingly the only scar he could see on her.

Her muscles were very defined, he could see them ripple under her skin, and she seemed thinner then he remembered. But given yesterday's events, he guessed that would make sense, but resolved to make sure she ate more. Though he could not see her chest very well as she did have an arm over it, her breasts looked full, large but still suiting the rest of her. He turned his head and noted something that betrayed her mixed blood even more then her ears. Her ribs were very slightly different, one barely notable extra curve in each.

"Her lungs must be bigger than a humans, or she has something extra in her chest." He mused silently. His gaze travelled on her arms to her hands, though they were small, her fingers were long and her nails slightly thicker and pointed. He wondered if they were like a cats, and if she let them would they be longer? There were large red welts from where the silver had burned her yesterday. His gaze roamed back up her form.

The more he looked the more little things he noticed that weren't human, a bone where they shouldn't be, another a slightly different angle, her spine was very slightly different, he had no doubt that she was incredibly flexible.

Again he resisted the temptation to run a hand over her side, just to see if she felt any different. Cat had been tall, thin, soft, every ounce the Tully Lady, Herian was no lady, just by looking at her he knew that. He had a feeling that her in common cloths, not hiding, her red locks steaming out behind her, with a battle roar on her lips. Would be a sight never to be forgotten.

"You know my Thane." Herian's eyes remained closed, but her hand shot out to catch his when he tried to leap away. "if it helps you grasp, the who, why and want. I would not mind if you touched." She finished, pulling him back to her and setting his hand on her hip.

Ned almost pulled it back, this was hardly proper, and yet… Her skin was soft, yet firm underneath, warm. Just like any womens. He slide his rough hand down her side, over her hip and down to her knee, then back up to her chest, he avoided her breasts, instead shifting touch her back and shoulders. All the curves were the same, the muscles familiar. Cat had always taken to his bed with duty in mind, exploration was never really a thing. Curious, he touched a finger to her alien ear, he ran it down the pointed slope to the base.

Herian purred quietly, then rolled slowly over to lie on her back.

Ned trailed his fingers from her ear to her neck and pressed softly at the to it. He could feel the vibrations of her purr, it was a strange feeling, yet oddly comforting. He guessed if one spent any time with cats, purring could become very relaxing.

"Are you enjoying this?" He asked softly.

"It is pleasant." her word were distorted slightly by her purr, particularly when he run his hand over her chest, again avoiding her breasts down her ribs, touching the slight oddities he had noticed before. "To the extent of my knowledge pleasurable areas are the same between our species for the most part. Though I do not know if your kind like having their jaw and neck touched as much as I do."

"A woman's neck is know to be sensitive." Ned commented absent mindly.

The elf allowed her eyes to open slightly, the tense look of concentration on Neds face made her smile. Her brain was a bit fogged at the moment, no one had ever pet her before, it was very distracting.

Ned ran his fingers up and down her stomach.

A new odd feeling started to bother her and she spoke up. "As pleasant as this is, if you do not stop, I shall be reduced to a puddle of purr till lunch."

"Sorry." Ned snatched his hand away.

Herian sat up with a giggle. "I offered you silly goose." Then thought for a moment, "How about this, I will let you explore to your hearts content. If you let me give you a massage tonight, between the papers and stress. You look tighter then my lute strings."

Part of him wished to say he was finished with his exploration, the other said her offer was very tempting and knew better then to turn her down flat. "Alright." The Stark spoke thickly, before he could get distracted again he went and dressed himself

Herian decided to forgo her usual armour, instead picking a breast band, normal grey tunic and breeches, with the supple boots. Ned did not intend to go to the melee today, instead was choosing to stay in the tower.

Before following her Thane out to breakfast she browsed over her books, with a grimace she picked up Advanced Healing, then her lute.

The Stark had started in on breakfast when she came down, Arya and Jon lite up when they saw her.

Jon asked. "What are we doing today?"

Herian set her lute to the side and sat in her place. "Magic."

"Can I watch!?" Arya asked and Sansa looked up from her food.

"I don't see why not," Herian started in on a peach, the servants has sliced it up.

Once breakfast was complete, and the servants had collected the dishes, gawking at Herian. She rolled the table out of the way and gave Sansa and Ayra a place to sit where they wouldn't be in the line of fire. Ned surprised her by collecting a small stack of papers from his office then sitting with his girls.

The elf and boy stood in the middle of the room and Herian began. "Witchers use five Signs, Aard, Igni, Quen, Yrden and Axii." She turned to face a bare wall. "Aard." She trust her left hand out and made a few quick movements with her fingers. A wave a blew energy blasted into the wall. "It is useful against humans and flying foes, a well powered Aard can send many people flying."

Arm still outstretched she did another quick gesture and a stream of ember like fire flew from her fingers, buring the wall. "Igni, quite simply is fire."

"Quen." Again a new gesture but this time close to her chest. A gold light covered her. "A shield, ranging from this to a solid orb."

She stepped away from the wall this gesture was directed to the floor, a large ring of purple runs lit the floor and Jon found he could barely move. "Yrden, the trap sign, it slows all within it, save the caster."

Lastly she showed him Axii, it consisted of her thumb and forefinger being brought together her hand moving sideways with her pinky flicked up at the end. "With Axii you can take over a persons minds, usually it is just used for suggestions. Small commands. For example were I to cast Axii on you then tell you to pretend you were a cat. You would do it. It can also be used to calm animals."

Jon nodded, it seemed very powerful.

"Have you been practising your meditation?" The elf asked.

"Yes." Jon had been practising every night.

"Good, remember how well you felt in the forest? The energy you felt?"

"Yes."  
Herian held out her left hand palm up, a small flame burst to life. "Summon that up, then cast Aard at the wall.

The sign was much smaller than what Herian had generated but he managed it.

Herian corrected him and he tried again. They continued this till lunch, by then he could cycle between all the signs and cast well. The elf even allowed him to practice Axii on her.

Much to Herian and Neds annoyance, Robert, the Queen and Joffery came for lunch, servants trailing behind them.

Herian righted the table before the humans could try.

"Ned!" Robert bellowed bombastically. "You missed the melee!"

Ned rose to greet the King. "That was my intent."

Herian picked a spot in the eve of the windows, and struck up her lute. Simple little warming up tunes.

"Come on Ned, it's your tourney!" The two men traded barbs, while Cersei and Joffery turned their attention to Sansa.

"How is my Lady this afternoon?" Joffery asked sitting next to her. "I missed you at the melee."

Herian watched the two out of the corner of her eye.

Emboldened by Herian's presence. "I did not wish to watch Knights beat each other bloody for sport. My Father wished to have a quiet day and that was much more appealing." Sansa said with a false smile.

"That little bird learns quickly." Herian mused silently. "I think I ought to thank the Hound for keeping an eye on her. The poor lass is so often pulled into that little cunts presence."

Joffery's gaze darkened. "I don't see how sitting in this stuffy tower could be better then the melee."

"Herian was also teaching Jon, she allowed Sansa and myself to watch." Sansa shifted away from the Prince slightly.

"And what was she teaching?" Joffery looked up to see the casually dressed, maskless elf for the first time.

The pint-sized prince scoffed. This was what had driven the King up a wall for the past few weeks? This was what made the Queen scowl for reasons he didn't bother to remember? Joffery almost wanted to laugh, he really did. The lack of her mask didn't even add much. All he saw was a woman with oddly coloured skin, ears a bit pointier than one would expect, and a face that really looked like it deserved a good smack with the back of his hand. How she looked at him made the lad want to do it right then and there too, but he held back. The time would come at some point, he was sure of it.

Herian spoke up. "Magic Princeling." Not bothering to look at the inbred little shit.

"Excuse me?"

Joffery raised a brow and glared up at the tall elf, "If you want to lie to my face, the best you could do is make up something a tad more convincing than that! I mean really, you might as well be trying to convince me with your head up your ass."

Really, could the woman take the boy as a bigger of a foul? Joffrey had heard of her antics, how she made the King seem like a fool, but magic? Really? He was there during her little freak out, sitting up high in the rafters with a good look at all below him. The commotion was odd, but magic? Well, he saw why she hid behind a mask now.

She wasn't just hard to look at because of her face alone, but she must have been a dreadful liar. So bad that her expressions must have been like crushing some poor mutt's tail.

Herian laughed, and stood from her place. "Lies are your families strong suit not mine." She approached him grinning, she called sister wolf up, time to scare the shit out of the little shit. The elf pushed the shirt up on her right arm, and allowed the wolf to show through. It lengthened and her hands grew longer claws several centimetres long grew forth. She raised her hand, in is between phase, dark and twisted, and just lightly set a claw on his cheek. "You stupid boy, I am not from around here." She traced the curved edge of her claw down his cheek, lightly just enough to not break the skin.

She licked her lips, her eyes changing to gold for him to watch, teeth lengthening changing. "I come from a place, where magic is like water." She drew her hand away from his cheek and summoned a frost spell in its palm, while it wouldn't hurt him without a proper casting, it would feel very cold. "Be thankful I am still digesting yesterday's horse, my patience is uncommonly plentiful." The elf rumbled the words deep in her chest.

The Witcher glanced as Cersei daring her to intervene, with her claws so close to the boys throat. She shifted her attention back to the boy. "You're just a child, act like it. Question me again and I'll show you why your Father is scared shitless of me." She was getting better at talking around her fangs, it was fun letting each word roll through them, watching him gaze at their slink shining sharp forms.

Across the thinnest portion of his skin, Jeffrey felt pain. It was shallow, barely a scratch. If you were to compare it to something, it would be similar to a dog running its paw against a patch of skin. Not a direwolf of course, such a beast would tear a large chunk of meat from even the toughest of men.

Jeffrey clamped a hand over-top half of his face and shot the woman a glare. His mouth twisted into a sneer, a furious, splitting hate filled expression. How dare she?! How dare she?! The fact she had touched him was one thing, that would warrant her losing a hand if anything. But her tone, the look in those eyes of hers? The belittling gaze that she shot his way.

From head to toe, Jeffrey could feel his anger boil over. His hands twitched, knees trembled. Even one of his eyes twitched violently, as if about to pop free from his skull's socket. The silver tongue, that dreaded piece of meat that had reduced both men and women to tears in the past struggled for freedom. The prince could spend hours upon hours letting loose the most vile and hateful rage upon the bitch standing just a foot or so away.

"You-! You-!" Jeffrey stumbled. The boy felt such rage that he couldn't even put it into words! Each syllable that came out from his maw was a stutter. It sounded like words that would make a puppy cry, but not a one felt even vaguely understandable.

"Shhh, you are like a rabbit right now, watching you makes me hungry." Herian placed her claw on the prince's lips. "Be kind to Sansa, or be silent."

Ned and Robert were watching the exchange, the former with amusement, the latter with a deep feeling of terror.

Ned called out to his guard. "Enough Herian."

Herian made a show of sighing, but stepped away and allowed her features to returned to normal. "As you command my Thane." she returned to her place, sat and resumed playing her lute. She regretted shifting that arm now, the burn welts had cracked slightly and she could feel fluid oozing forth, she pulled her sleeve back down to hide it.

The Stark spared a glance at the elf and shook his head. He tried not to think of what might have happened if he hadn't been there. Not that it wouldn't have been deserved of course, but still. There are enough problems about, so to add to such a pile would have been but a larger headache waiting for the King's hand.

Off to the side, Joffrey twitched violently. Over and over, the belittling comments would not stop. He wished he had a sword, an axe, anything that he could use to bash the woman's face in. The Prince wished he could order men to take her outside and lop her head off like some vile animal. The grass could have done good from a good coat. Would have been more useful that what it was currently doing, that's for sure.

Thankfully, before the lad could sprout some other vile taunt or insult from his mouth, a sharp look was cent his way. Cersei, the boy's mother, sent the child a knowing look. It was subtle, one that most missed. Joffrey glared at the expression, his jaw tense and his teeth grinding against one another. Atop his face, a vein looked about ready to burst open like a bloody pimple. An explosion of rage was just boiling underneath the lad's skin, like a fire that had been fed a bit too much for one day.

Instead of exploding however, Joffrey turned his gaze to somewhere else and fumed. If he could not let loose his anger on the fools in front of his face, then something else would simply have to bear it. Be it some piece or stone, rug, or even the ceiling itself. Whatever the case was, the Prince did not care.

Again, Ned sighed, "Now then."

"Is there something else you need, your majesty? You seem a bit too excited for something like a simple set of missed matches."

Robert huffed, "It was your Tournament. You should have been there."

"I don't recall requesting such a thing. Besides," Ned mused, "I'm sure you'd be more than happy to tell me all about what happened over a drink or so later. Now, what else do you want?"

Robert glared at the elf, playing her lute softly. "Answers for a start." He picked up a chair and moved it so he was only two or so meters away and sat, mug in hand. "What is a werewolf?"

Herian felt her lips turn up at the corners. "Individuals blessed, or cursed, depends who you asked by Hircine. Or at least that is the origin of us. Since then it has become more alike a disease, capable of being transited under the right circumstances. Hircine is the Daedric Prince of the Hunt, Daedric Princes are like Gods, but they don't give a shit about people. They have their games and us mortals are their playthings. A werewolf is just one of Hircine's creations, we have a wolf spirit sharing our bodies, this spirit is what controls the change. Makes us into what you saw yesterday."

"How did you become one? Are you infectious?" Robert asked, more of her was a terrifying thought.

"It is in my family, and no, not as I am now." Herian decided to leave out in her wolf form she was, but only by blood. Given the occupants of the room that seemed wise.

Robert raised a brow, "As you are now? Does that mean you were at some point?"

Off to the side, Ned shook his head, "I would assume so, but I think your question has answered itself. If she were to be infectious, then I would imagine that there would be many more like her running around at this point. When I arrived, I likely would have been greeted by such creatures instead of you and your men."

Robert flinched. The King did not want to imagine that. People in the streets were one thing, but a whole horde of such monsters running in and out of King's Landing? It would have sent shivers down his spine with such a concept.

"I would rather not think of such a thing," he muttered, "But what about you Ned? From what I gather, it seems you were about as unaware of her condition as we were."

The Stark gave off a shrug, "I did not, though that is more my fault than hers. I kept my distance, allowed her to have her space. Though in reality, perhaps some questions early on might have spared us from such a display as it had been."

To the side, Cersei chuckled at the lord's choice of words, "That might have been wise. She has been in your kingdom long enough and yet you had never bothered to ask? Not so wise, my lord."

"I've been made more than aware of that, thank you." Ned replied, "But as it were, I saw no reason to pry. Herian has done her duty well in my place, as I'm sure you both had noticed prior to my return and this tournament you sought to have."

The Queen smiled, "Oh, that is true. Having her around was odd, if not pleasant. But as you now, secrets can lead to many things. It's better to be up front with those you stand with. Could avoid such matters all together if done in such a way."

Ned could hear Herian scoff at such a comment. Both knew of what went on behind closed doors when concerning Robert's wife, it was no secret between the hear her speak of honesty with those you offer up as friends and close allies? It was almost enough to earn a good chuckle out him.

"Humans are not known for accepting the strange or that they do not understand. Better to hide and slowly break your kind into the idea." Herian muttered, focusing on her playing.

"You don't know us very well then." Cersei smiled charmingly.

"Says the noble who has never had to work for a living. I've probably killed more humans then you've meet. You are quicker to condemn and lynch, then you are to listen and learn." Herian looked up at her. "I know your kind better, than you do." Her voice took a dark edge that Ned hadn't heard before.

"Why do you hate us? You don't even know us." Joffery asked, he knew that look all too well.

"Some things never change, no matter where you are from. Do you have anything else you wish to ask Robert?" Herian played her lute in a slightly more complex tune.

"Where are you from? What are you?" Robert asked, taking a sip of his wine.

"You want the long version or the short?" The Dark Elf asked.

"Long."

"I was birthed in the province of Morrowind, my father is a Khajiiti Dunmer mix, my mother a sorceress of Great House Telvanni. Morrowind consists mostly of Ashlands and is Tamriel's easternmost province, home to all Dunmer. I am a Witcher, in short monster slayer for hire, though curse breaking also falls under my area of expertise. I learned said skills on a different world to my birth one and spent most of my life there. About three years ago I returned to my birth world and took up as a Ranger. An elite group of warriors that follow the Nerevarine and tend to the smaller ills of Tamriel. Beyond that as you know I am a Hound of Hircine, as well as a Dragonborn."

"You haven't mentioned that last one to me." Ned commented.

"I am still breaking you into all the new and strange." Herian briefly smirked. "A Dragonborn is a mortal, born with the blood and soul of a Dragon. We have the power to learn the language of the dragon with ease, to use Words of Power into Thu'um. With this also comes the ability to absorb Dragon Souls."

"You can speak dragon?" Sansa asked, it sounded like something out of her tales.

"Zu'u mindok fin tinvaak ol fod nii lost pank do dovah." The Elf felt her soul stir at the use of the language, she smiled at Sansa. "I doubt your dragons speak the same tongue."

"What did you say?" Ayra asked.

"I know the speech as if it was part of me." Herian shrugged.

"Cool." Ayra grinned.

Off to the side, Robert let out a huff. The King crossed his arms while a scowl fit itself across the man's face, "So you have those winged beasts in your land as well? Dreadful."

The tales of Dragons and winged beasts of similar kin were but tales within Westeros. They had existed at one point in time, that could not be denied. Underneath King's Landing, many a person could back up their claims by showing a person the remains of the monsters themselves. Skeletal bones and skulls, tied down deep underneath the stone walls of the keep. Each were long dead, with dust draped all across the dry surfaces. Some chunks of stone even had marks, gashes that were carved so deep in the surfaces that no living thing could have done such a thing.

Robert bit his cheek. The image of such a monster brought his blood to a boil with just a thought. In the past, he had heard tales of massive monsters, riding through the sky. Their shadows could blot out the sun like a large thundercloud fluttering miles above. But the monsters themselves? They were a whisper in comparison to the rage underneath his skin. As dreadful as the beasts were in person, the lord felt nothing but contempt towards another, similar image.

The symbol of a dragon, inscribed atop a banner, fluttering in the wind.

"Aye we do, Paarthurnax is their current ruler. He taught me their tongue, but I couldn't really give a damn about his "Way of the Voice". Witchers are not ruled by our emotions, I don't see the need to sit on top of a mountain to meditate about it." Out of habit her fingers started playing, 'dragonborn'. "My family aids him in his rule, my aunts, uncles and cousins, are sometimes called upon to hunt those who refuse to fall in line."

The King raised a brow, "So you are aligned with a ruler who can command dragons at his beck and call? You tell that to many others around here and you ought to earn the dread of many people in this kingdom."

"You're over exaggerating things," Ned noted, "Those tales are not but myth here."

Robert rolled his shoulders with a shrug, "Maybe, but what they're related to would surely stir up some bad memories. Damn creatures are to them as your wolves are to you Ned, and most would rather fear their flames than the alternative."

The Stark leaned back, nothing else to say. Indeed, if given the choice between the flames of giant monstrous lizards that could fly through the sky and what the former rulers of Robert's land had nearly unleashed? Ned was certain many would take the one that was enthralled in legends instead of what had nearly become reality. Red flames burned bright and harsh, but its counterpart was much wilder in comparison.

"Perhaps." he finally replied, "But those days are done."

Robert frowned, "So I'd hope."

Herian looked up at Robert. "You misunderstand. Our Dragons are not mindless beasts. They are immortal, killing one is not an easy task. There is a reason it is my family that is called upon to kill dragons. Our dragons can only be truly killed by those who are dragonborn, we don't just pull them from the sky. When we fight a dragon, we kill their flesh and absorb their soul, all their knowledge and much of their power. If you, or any who are not dragonborn were to fight a dragon, you may succeed is killing the flesh. But with the right Words of Power, the dragon could be resurrected." She played for a moment, then spoke again. "My Grandmother ALLOWS, Paarthurnax to command the dragons because he is one himself. It is the easiest and perhaps best solution. He is not a bad person all things considered and he rules well. But he answers to my Grandmother and doesn't dare raise her irre."

She shifted in her place. "Besides, any dragonborn does not wish to absorb any more dragon Souls than absolutely necessary. All dragons crave domination, it takes an inner strength to deny that, and the more souls. The harder it is." The Dark Elf felt her own dragon rise to gaze outward, causing her eyes to glow softly with golden energy. "My family shares the hunting of rogue dragons around, so no one member… falls to deeply into their soul." She blinked and her dragon returned to slumber.

Robert blinked, "Well then…"

"You're family seems to have a tight leash around them then." he noted.

Actually having heard more about the woman's family now, Robert almost dare say that they made the ties his Queen's kin had in the world almost seem like simple strings in comparison. The Lannisters were widely known throughout the kingdom with many a person either knowing their name or owing them quite the favour. The King wasn't as foolish as most would often picture him as. Such a family was wealthy and well respected, but when compared to the tales that came out of the elf's mouth?

Well, they might as well be nothing short of a mere trader or something equally as small. To control a very kingdom, Dragons, and one who held their leash at all time? It was absurd in the most insane ways Robert could imagine. Hell, he could barely imagine it at all.

That was why instead, the King merely took a large drink from his cup. A much easier response than questioning her about such things. If that were to occur, the King was certain he would need a lot more to drink, and perhaps someone to write down some notes on a piece of parchment.

It would be like taking inventory or something of another.

Herian smiled. "Only as it needs to be, the Emperor still commands the people. We only deal with powers that those less gifted or trained can not. It is a family saying 'Only fools seek to rule'. My Grandmother is the Head of Great House Telvanni, but beyond that she and the rest of us say out of politics." She was leaving out that she was Telvanni as well, hearing about a group devoted to the study and improvement of magic, particularly of Destruction, Conjuration and Necromancy. It was most probably very wise.

Robert puckered his lips, "I'm not sure if I should feel insulted by that."

"Don't bother," Ned noted, "It is something you'll have to get used to with her around. Might help to build up a bit of thick skin, especially around that gut of yours."

The King shot his Hand a small glare and swiftly returned to his wine. That was a conversation he did not want to have. Not with Ned at the moment, and especially not with his Queen and children anywhere near. Instead, Robert shook his head and tried to get back on task.

"Of course, if only that were as easy here as it is there." he mused. If being King could mean Robert could set off the more politic focused for someone else to deal with, he would. He had brought Ned on for that very reason in some ways, through being the King still meant he had to show up for appearances now and then. If he didn't, the King might not have gained such a large sum of weight with all the stress the Kingdom placed on him day in and day out.

"You do have it easy, you have a Hand to do all the work for you. You don't have ten different races, each with their own province, politics, religion. You don't have ten races worth of magic, each with different skills and inborn magic, making them dangerous in different ways. You have seven little Kingdoms and a united people." Herian shrugged. "For the most part, and I will admit the North is rather large, though I have a feeling it is still smaller than Skyrim. Hmm, but then Skyrim as many mountians, so its hard to tell."

Robert, once again, shot Ned a look.

"She has quite the habit of making one feel rather small in the grand scheme of things, does she not?" he asked.

Often, such a claim would get chucked out a nearby window. The maps of Westeros were drawn for a reason, the lands were set, but very few knew of all the nicks and cracks in the land. Even less had even the slightest clue of what sat beyond the wall to the North. Herian's words however, said much different things. She spoke of longer, wider, and more mysterious lands that would make the seven Kingdoms feel as if they were but a bare bar in the center of town. It would be easy to call such a claim out as little more than someone's wild tale.

The Witcher however, spoke in a tone that made the lands feel so much more real. It was as if she had actually been there, as if she had done everything she spoke of and met creatures that would make even the most dangerous of Westeros' feel pathetic in comparison. It was unnerving to say the least.

Ned shrugged, "Same answer as before, my King."

"I haven't even begun to speak of Tamriel, though for more maps and books would be wise." Herian changed to a slower calmer tone. "To put it in perspective, five of the races, the Mer, we live for centuries. When we wage war, we look long into the future. When we build, we seek perfection. Altmer or High Elves are particularly bad for doing this. They are not unlike the Lannisters, no offence intended." Herian nodded at Cersei.

"Same tall stature through much taller, but with golden skin, hair and eyes. Twice they have tried to conquer the Empire, once they failed another time they won. Till my Grandmother got tired of their shit and raised up an army. This Party was called the Ebonheart Pact, Nords very like Ned and the Northmen. I honestly thought he was one when I first saw him." She smiled at the Lord. "My people the Dunmer or Dark Elves and the Argonians." Herian grinned darkly. "All the wizards, spellswords and plans don't count for not when the Nerevarine turns her gaze to the world. Lets just say the war was short, though we still pick off any Thamlor that becomes ballsy enough to be seen."

She played a new tune, a bit more effort but she enjoyed the challenge. She had been born after her Grandmother's war, short though it had been. The people were quick to rally behind a dragonborn.

"Well then," Robert muttered.

Off to the side, Ned spared the King a short glance out the corner of his eye. Robert said not a word about what the elf had spoken of, he barely knew a thing of the whats or whos that were attached to her tales. To be truthful, neither did the Stark. Herian could go on for hours on end with her stories, speaking of things of her past or the land she had come from and many would be no closer to understanding half of what had come out of her mouth.

Frustrating could describe the process well. Ned had caught a few words from time to time. Like a bell, some names, places, and a few concepts rang with a bit of familiarity, but that was all. Otherwise, the Stark often wondered if he needed to keep a notebook. A small leatherback book, just in case he needed to reference a name, or a date of an event. It would be his choice of course, but after recent events, the Lord had sworn to right his ways in regards to secrets. Herian had once tried to open herself up to him, and her Thane had kept his ears shut like a fool sticking wax between the gaps in his head. Humiliating, and it had nearly brought danger to the Kingdom. He would not allow for that again, even if it meant carrying around a little book at all times.

Unlike the Stark though, Ned knew Robert was not one to miss out on details. The way the elf had spoken of slaughter, of how they took charge over a group of people with such force that they would hunt down any who would dare show their faces. By Herians words, they were all but peaceful, that was for certain. But by how the King reacted to such a tale, how calm he was about it. Any man would often find such acts startling at the very least, but the King? He barely batted an eye at such actions.

Though given what he had done in the past, it was hardly much of a surprise.

"Who's the Nerevarine?" Sansa asked, having caught the name, it sounded great.

Herian chuckled. "That is a very very long story, spanning hundreds of years. To put simply, the Nerevarine is the War General of the Ashlanders, and of the Great Houses. She is Lord Nerevar Indoril incarnate. The God Killer. The long story would require, food, drink, maps and drawings. Because that is a story that starts with a war, and a very angry Daedra."

"How does one kill Gods?" Ayra asked.

Herain stopped playing and tapped her fingers against the body of her lute. "Hmm." She pondered a long moment. "That is also a long story."

"Tell it!" Ayra grinned, she had a feeling it would be a good story.

"Well, first you just understand our Gods. We call them Aedra and Daedra. Aedra means roughly, our ancestors. Though the Dunmer do not follow them. Daedra means not our ancestors. Though the Dunmer follow few a Daedric Prince, we believe that Boethiah is our God ancestor. First there were eight Aedra; Akatosh: The Dragon God of Time, Arkay: The Mortal's God, Dibella: The Goddess of Beauty and Art, though sex often falls under her as well. Julianos: God of Logic, Wisdom and Magic, Kynareth: Goddess of the heavens, winds and rain, Mara: The Mother-Goddess, the lady of love, compassion and the bounty of nature, Stendarr: The Steadfast, his sphere is mercy, justice and righteousness. Finally Zenithar: The Trader God. These eight beings lived before the dawn of time, with only each other for company."

She set her lute aside. "Now the Daedra, there are seventeen Princes in total, I will not go over them all now as a few are very unpleasant. Though we do not know exactly what he is outside these two groups stood Lorkhan. The Missing God, also named the Creator-Trickster-Tester, the god of all mortals for it him we thank for Nirn. Lorkhan tricked the Eight Divines into creating Nirn, our home world. Because of this the Eight were greatly weakened, but still managed to trap and separate Lorkhan from his divine center. Lorkhan's heart, a theory is that his body became to the moons of my world Masser and Secunda. But because his heart could not be destroyed Auri-El, set the heart upon his mighty bow and fired clear across Tamriel, when it landed it created Vvardenfell, also known as the Red Mountain, a massive volcano."

She took a small sip from her glass, the youths were entranced by her tale. "At some point in the future Boethiah came to the Chimer upon the Summerset Isle, the now homeland of the Altmer. At this time the Chimer were divided and many chose to follow Boethiah from the Isle. There is much more to that, but that is a story for another time. Eventually they came to the land we know call Morrowind, though at the time it was inhabited by the Dwemer or Deep elves. For a time the two peoples managed to live together peacefully. But all the while the Dwemer had and were experimenting upon the Heart of Lorkhan, the head of this was a Dwemer priest by the name of Kagrenac and he made three tools to harness the power of the heart. Sunder, Keening and Wraithguard."

"At the time Boethiahs Chimer were lead by a council of five, Nerevar, his wife Almalexia, Vivec, Sotha Sil and Dagoth. When they found out about the Heart and Anumidium, a giant war machine almost as big as the volcano itself. They went to war against the Dwemer and won. But after they were divided on what to do with the heart. In the end Nerevar wanted to banish the heart, hide it away where it could not be used. His advisors disagreed with this. Together they murdered Lord Nerevar. In her rage Azura, the Daedric Prince of Dawn and Dusk." She pulled off her amulets and showed them the Moon-and-Star one. "She turned all the Chimer to Dunmer. Nerevar had been her long time Champion and for his murder she changed us all. In an instant, we went from gold skinned people, to skin like the ash of Vvardenfell and eyes of its fire. But she could not touch Almalexia, Vivec, Sotha Sil and Dagoth. For they had Kagrenac's tools, once they each struck the Heart, tearing away a piece of its power for themselves. Almalexia, Sotha Sil and Vivec became the Almsivi, Gods of Morrowind and her peoples. Dagoth remained with the Heart to study and protect it. While Sotha Sil created his own plane of Oblivion, called the Clockwork City."

"Many centuries came and went, the Dunmer became one of the greatest powers of Tamriel with its God Rulers, even the great Tibre Septim who would rise to become Talos the Nineth Divine. Would not turn his army against my people. But Azura had created a prophesied upon Nerevar's death. That he would be reborn, reincarnated and that person would tear down the Almsivi. These people became the Nerevarine potentials, many came and went, not able to fulfil all the prophesies requirements. Till one day in the third Era of Tamriel one did." She took another swallow of wine. "My Grandmother, through corprus she earned incredible physical strength and immortality. She earned the Moon and Star from Azura herself in the Cave of the Incarnate. Stood to be named Nerevarine by six Ashlander Clans and Hortaror by Three Great Houses. When this was complete she meet met with Vivec, who gave her Wraithguard and a plan to defeat the now mad Dagoth Ur. She travelled behind the Ghost Gate and retrieved Sunder and Keening. Then deep within the mountain she went till she found and fought Dagoth Ur. Immortal and Invisible that he was. But to kill a god, you need only take away the source of his power. She struck the Heart first with Sunder, then with Keening, but she made a mistake, rather than just severing the Almsivi from their power. She forged a bound of her own, the whole power of Lorkhan remains hers to command to this day. She then killed Dagoth Ur and Almalexia and freed the Dunmer from their rule. Vivec she allowed to live, for another completed reason, I will not get into at this time. She then went on to defeat an aspect of Hircine, the Daedric Prince of the Hunt and my name sake, at his very own hunt. Here she became on of his Hounds, a werewolf. She uses the speed and agility of her Hound to balance the strength of corprus. It is from her I get my other shape. After this she left Morrowind and travel to Akviar, a land far away from Tamriel. For she did not wish to become what she had destroyed."

"To kill Gods, Sansa. You must become one. It is my Grandmother's story that keeps those of her bloodline from ruling. We love our freedom, and we have to much power." She took a long drink. "That is not even the end of the tale. But it is enough to answer your question for now."

"Wow." Ayra and Jon, had moved to sit at her feet eyes wide with wonder.

Herian looked up at the sun, Robert followed her gaze.

"We should retire for now." The King muttered, brain going in overdrive.

"Stay a minute more Robert. Arya, Sansa, Jon, go take your wolves for a walk." Ned said.

"Thank you for the story." Cersei and Joffery departed.

Soon enough, the chamber emptied until three remained. Sansa and her sister left to go find their furry companions whilst the Queen and her brat of a son left to parts unknown. Herian followed the pair with a glare. The second the two turned away, the elf held a sneer on her face until the moment they left through a door. Robert took no note of this, while Ned merely shook her head. The Witcher looked itching to say something to the pair for the last five minutes or so. Must have been quite the struggle to stay quiet and respectful.

Not that they deserved it of course.

With another swig of his mug, Robert let out a sigh, "Well then, I feel I've had as much as I can take for one day. My head feels as if it is gonna burst at any moment."

"I'm sure it is." Ned nodded, "My skull is whimpering as well. But if you will allow it, there is one more thing that we feel should be shared with you, my King."

Robert raised a brow, "Oh really? Another tale to enthral me with?"

At such a question, the Stark turned his head and shot the Witcher a glance. The two shared, for a few seconds, a glance. Their eyes met, and with no words, Ned let out a sigh.

"Somewhat."  
Herian stood and placed her glass back on the table, then sighed. "There is no easy way to put this. Your wife, fucks her brother. Her children are not yours but his. I could smell it on them a league away. Since meeting them I have been seeking out evidence beyond my senses. For a start really look at Joffery, there is none of your blood in him. All of your house have at least black hair, ask your Maester for the book proving this. Upon returning from Winterfell, Jon showed me a golden hair belonging to Cersei in the watchtower that Bran 'fell' from. Jon Arryn was looking into your bastards when he was murdered, likely because he had figured out that you have no litigate heirs."

"...pardon me?"

Ned leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Robert, it's true." he sighed, "Everything. The actions of your 'queen', the lengths she and her brother would go through to keep their secrets. And while I'm not entirely convinced, Ser Arryn's fate, could be entangled in this mess as well-"

Through the room, a loud thud echoed through the air. Robert leaped to his feet. The King was like a blur, on his feet before Ned could see him move. His chair stumbled backwards and fell to the ground with a crack. The lord even dropped his mug, sending wine splattering all across the floor. "The truth?! The TRUTH?!" Robert shouted.

His face grew red, like fire burning underneath his skin. Steam looked ready to burst out from between his ears. The banners that lined the halls of the keep paled in comparison to how heated the King looked.

"Do you have any idea of what you are saying?! Have you gone mad!?"

Ned shook his head, "Robert, you need to listen-"

"No, you need to listen!" the King snapped and threw a sneer at the Stark, "Have you lost your mind?! I stand in my home, in my keep, and say to my face that my entire marriage is but a farce!? Are you even listening to yourself!?"

Herian growled lowly. "Why are you surprised? I don't understand. Since I have met you, you have been either drinking or whoring. Frequently in the presence of your Queen. You honestly think she wouldn't turn to another? Though her choice of another is rather… disgusting."

The King flinched. With such a claim, his anger faltered like a flame being blown on for a good few seconds. As sweat dripped down his brow, Robert turned and now shot the elf a heated glare. He should have realized that little detail would be brought up eventually.

"That's, different!" he sneered.

Ned sighed, "No, it isn't. If you choose to have your fill of women who are not your wife, then there is nothing stopping her from doing the same. And to be frank my lord, you weren't exactly doing that much to hide the fact."

Really, it was as obvious as the King's drinking or eating. A person could take one good look at the lord and assume he spent his nights, not with his wife but with several women who cared more for coin than anything else. Did it happen in the dead of night while Cersei was at a party? The walls of King's Landing were surely thick enough to hide any trace of what had happened. With the likes of servants, it was a hobby easily concealed to all but who chose to notice.

Again, Robert faltered. Beads of sweat now flowed down the King's head and into his beard. The rage in his eyes had dimmed, now replaced with a slight hint of panic. It was as if he were a child, with his hand caught dead with his hand securely in where it hadn't belonged.

After a moment of silence, the King bowed his head, "You're certain of this…?"

Out of all the moments he could wish for Ned to be wrong, now would be the time. He could be right about anything else. An army led by a no name house coming to sack King's Landing. A monster rising out of the sea in the dead of night. The return of dragons, anything! Robert could be happy with anything, just so it wasn't this.

"Aye." Herian firmly and looked over to Ned, handling Robert was his area not hers.

Throughout the room, a thick silence took root.

The King's anger slowly flickered out of existence. In its place, a grim realization burned its way onto the lord's face. Without a word, Robert picked up his chair and collapsed into the wooden fixture. The normally jolly, if intoxicated lord of the Seven Kingdom's leaned back and sunk into the chair. Both the elf and Stark watched as the man who could be rarely be seen without some sort of wine or liquor in his hand, sunk deeper into the cold hard truth.

Eventually, Robert took a deep breath and sighed. A deeper sigh that sounded far overdue, "With her brother, with Jamie? And none of my children...not a one, are actually mine?"

Reluctantly, Ned gave a nod, "Unfortunately. Herian made certain."

Despite the sharing the same last name that governed over the Seven Kingdoms, Robert Baratheon had no heirs. Once he died, as it stood now, there would be no one from his bloodline to carry on his name. Sure, he had his brothers still, the two were proud men in their own rights. To the Kingdom however, there were nothing. Robert had no sons, no daughters, and no children of any kind. The two sons and daughter he thought he had? The ones he had spent the last few years raising? They were his wife's children, yes, but they were not his.

As the King mulled over the news, Ned rose from his seat. The Stark, without a word, moved over to his longtime friend, and cast his gaze down on him. Such a King, known for his pride and laughter, looked nothing like the man Ned knew. Robert sat deep within his chair, almost willing to become part of it if it meant an escape to the truth that had been shoved in his face. Oh, how he would have rather not known. Bliss was a gift at times, and the King surely wished he had plenty of it on hand at the moment.

But as it were, there would be no escape from the truth.

"I'm sorry," Ned told him, "You have no idea how much I hoped that this would be a mere rumour. Some kind of mistake we could all look at and laugh off as a sick kind of joke."

The Stark sighed, "But, this is not a matter you could simply brush underneath the rugs."

Herian pulled up a chair and sat, weaving her hands together. "Having her head is probably not a good idea. While I will admit Cersei is dangerous, you are also three million in debt to her father."

If it wasn't impossible enough, Robert sunk even further into his chair. The King raised his hands and rubbed his face with a groan. If there was any time the lord would need a drink, now was the time. Even Ned couldn't find a reason to object to more wine. If he and the King had changed position, there would have been barrels emptied by this point.

"I can't believe this," he muttered, "This cannot be the truth."

Ned rolled his eyes, "Don't be denying it. We would not have brought this to your attention if it wasn't anything but the truth."

The Elf and the Stark might have had their own beefs towards the King, but they knew when to draw the line. The reckless spending of money on a tournament that no one wanted. His excessive drinking and feasting. The women he constantly had brought to his room despite being married. All of it brought those around Robert nothing but irritation and embarrassment. Herian herself could go on for days complaining about the man, but even she wouldn't waste her time making up useless rumours. There were better things she could be doing with her time.

"The sooner you comes to terms with it, the better."

Robert groaned, "And how would you expect me to do that?"

"My children are not my own, my wife is not but a lying wrench, and her family has their claws throughout my entire Kingdom! How the hell am I meant to come to terms with any of this?!"

"I doubt you will." she ran a hand through her thick locks. "Makes me glad my family doesn't marry." She bite her lip and looked both men over, she had an idea, but it probably wouldn't go down well with either man. "You could ransom them. That would alleviate at least some of your debt to the Lannisters. You get payed, and Tywin gets to figure out what to do with them. It quite quickly stops being your problem."

In an instant, both men snapped their heads towards the elf. Robert's hands onto his lap while Ned just looked on shocked. Neither of the pair had ever considered such a thing, and as odd as it might have sounded, there was a rather good reason for that.

"Ransom them?" Ned muttered, "You must be joking."'

The King shook his head, "I cannot be hearing this. Ransom? Kidnapping my on wife and...children, and extorting her father for money? How low could this all get?! Next thing you'll know, I'll be having dinner with a Targaryen bastard before this is done with!"

Sitting back in his chair, the King pinched the bridge of his nose. In some ways, there was some reason to the elf's suggestion. The money issue was a major one, even after all of this business was taken care of, the banks would surely be looking for their money. Nothing sort of death would alive that burden from atop the Lord's shoulders. But out of everyone in King's Landing, the Lannisters would surely be the only ones capable of at least helping relieve such a debt. They cared little now due to Cersei being the Queen of course, any spending she could do would merely add to the debt of the Kingdom itself and not their own.

Regardless, Robert shook his head.

Could they really do this? Extort those who had been bleeding the Kingdom dry by using the very same people who had been playing the King for a fool for several years now? Fair play would be one reason for it, but an underhanded tactic it would be either way.

"I'm not sure." he muttered, "You say it as if it would be a walk through the courtyard."

"I never thought I would think you two native." Herian threaded her fingers together and rested her chin on them. "It would be a 'walk through the courtyard'. One you would be well within your rights to have her head, her brother as well. Their father could not fault you for that. Kidnapping wouldn't be necessary, hells you wouldn't even have to tell her that you know. All it would take is a raven with some flowerly words. He can have this two eldest back in one piece if he waves some of that debt, or he can see their heads on the traitors walk. For Lords you make this much too complicated. I almost envy you."

She did envy them, they who were so honourable that they didn't even know how to ransom people quietly. That kind of honour was quickly cured in Witchers, given most of their contractors tried to cheat them, on way or another. After all if rumours were to be believed, Witchers stole children.

Upon hearing her words, Ned and Robert shared a long look.

Neither lord were that unfamiliar with the concept of ransom. When in war, it was not too uncommon to hear of someone of importance to be captured by the other side. What would they want for such a person? Who knows? Money, supplies, new terms of battle? Maybe an exchange for someone who your side had taken at one point. Most of the time, it rarely mattered. Robert and Ned had tried to avoid such a tactic in their time, though the reasons were less than what the Stark would have hoped. There were many less reasons to hold ransom when completely toppling a Kingdom and its family.

Ned shook his head, "Tywin is the kind of lot who may consider such a prospect. As much as he may seem to care about his family, I've seen into that man's eyes before."

If one were to compare the eyes of the lord of House Lannister to the chilling Northern winds, it would be no contest. The North would appear as but a comfortable summer home to the man who ran one of the most well respected Houses in the Seven Kingdoms. He was a cold, calculating type of folk, who would care little for honour and simply thought to the future and how to get there. Ned sourly remembered on instant where he and the bastard they called the Mountain committed an act so vile that it still troubled the Stark that they hadn't been punched for it. Robert might have turned a blind eye to them at the time, but the Lord of the North is not one to forget.

With that on the mind, Ned let out a sigh, "As troubling as it is to say it, she has a point. If you were to send a bird whilst she, her brother, and their kin are safe in the castle, there wouldn't be much they could do to stop you."

Robert ruled over the very dirt they stood upon. No matter the standings Cersei or her brother had in the King's Guard, they would surely listen to their King before anything else. With Ned as the King's Hand as well, there would be little, if anything the Lannisters could do in the way of negotiating.

Herian straightened and leaned back. "It's just a thought. You could expose her to that church of the seven you have. I doubt they would look favourably upon her, probably let you find a new wife as soon as you liked. It really is up to you, and you probably can take some time to decide. Though sooner would be better than later. I'd be a bit surprised if she doesn't try to kill you. Cersei seems the kind of woman who would do whatever it takes to hold on to her power."

The elf picked up her cup and took a sip of the wine. "Ser Hughs would be dead right now if I hadn't stepped in, and we would be no closer to who killed Jon Arryn. Arranging accidents is easy."

Tamriel's Dark Brotherhood and her peoples Molag Tong, were conversations for another time. Murder had been turned into an art form.

Robert perked up, "You think she plans to kill me?"

Being unfaithful is one thing. Terrible. It was as if being stabbed in the heart by someone you thought yourself so close to. Robert still found himself struggling to accept the fact that his wife for several years now has been sleeping with her own brother. Truly revolting down to the very letter of the affair. But to kill him? Would Cersei really be willing to go that far? He knew his wife could be tricky with her words at times, but had it really progressed to that point?

Leaning back, Ned bowed his head with regret.

"There is no solid proof, but it is likely." he muttered, "It would be the best way to to get her children on the throne. If Ser Arryn's fate is anything to go by, they could be planning something similar to you in the future."

Ned hated saying such things, but now was not the time to sugarcoat the truth. The Lannisters were a cunning House, and if they wanted themselves on the throne. It was more than likely that they wouldn't wait for Robert to have his turn. One accident is all that would be needed and then one of Cersei's children would be in line for the throne. Hell, aside from the vile nature of her relationship with her brother, this was the reason the Stark had assumed the Queen had even bothered with claiming that her children were actually Robert's. They are the key to the Iron Throne, and any threat to that standing would be eliminated as soon as possible.

Deep down, Ned felt a bit of anger boil over. The accident with Bran came to mind. As Herian had said, accidents were as easy to fake as anything else in this world of theirs.

"Just think about it. What if you had competed in the Tourney? I heard Ned talked you out of it. You could have very easily been another Ser Hughs. Or maybe one day you will go out hunting and the wine will be just a bit too strong." She set her wine down and stood, began pacing. "You could fall from that thing you call a throne, end up impaled on the swords. Have a whore cut your throat. Because to someone like Cersei, what is the worth of a whore? Even if she was caught and convicted. It wouldn't matter."

These situations and a thousand more like them had been a topic in the elfs mind for some time now. Save Ned was usually the topic, though he was significantly less inclined to stupidity. No it would be his honour that would hang him. That presented a whole slew of other ideas and problems.

Back and forth she went before the two men, she was vastly improved from what she was yesterday. But she had done more worrying since they had left Winterfell, than she had done in her whole life.

Because the truth of it, was that she was fond of Ned. Nothing major, but she wished him safe and well, preferably back in Winterfell. With his wife would have been ideal but that wasn't possible anymore.

The words the elf spoke drilled deeper and deeper into the side of Robert's head. Both the lord's hands gripped the side of his skull and let loose a low groan. Each point, arguable or not, slammed into his supports like a mighty hammer. How many times a day could an accident have occurred? A spiked mug of wine. A knife hidden under a set of robes. The tension worked its way up and down the man's body. It begun to remind him of his early days on the throne, how the King was forced to constantly gaze over his shoulder, just in case.

"All this time," he mumbled, "Has this all been part of some grand plan? The marriage? My heirs?! Has it all been a lie? Each word that came out of their mouths, were each nothing but the claims of a silver tongued snake?"

Carefully, Ned rose from his seat and placed a hand upon the King's shoulder.

One glance at the Lord told him all that he needed. For every word the Stark and Elf spoke, another stone piled atop the King's shoulders. Each piled atop the man like a great weight, growing heavier with each passing second. If not careful, the weight would soon become far too much for him and they would reach a breaking point.

Ned held certain to not allow that to happen.

"Robert, be calm." he advised, "You need to calm down. This is a trying moment for you, I understand, but think clearly. There are ways to solve this without going overboard."

If the Lord had an idea how bad things could get if the King reached his breaking point, then both he and his children would not remain in King's Landing. Robert had an anger lurking inside him, waiting for even the slightest excuse to be unleashed. Cersei would easily make for a great target for such anger, if he had the urge to let it loose.

"I know." Robert hissed, "I know! And I will deal with it all the same."

Herian continued to pace, she was getting angry, but not at Ned or Robert. There were so many things about these humans that she didn't understand. He had many solutions and no love for his wife. She kneed the air, it was strange for her to feel this anger. The elf was generally very laid back, she turned briskly on her heel. "By your leave my Thane."

Ned nodded, he could see the tension rolling through the elf. The northman didn't know where it came from, but knew better then to keep her here.

Herian stormed away before her temper got the better of her.

 ***Heaves plot train forward* So yes lore dump, because I love Morrowind and stories. Are Darkdemon and I forever doomed to only ever have two reviews a chapter? Just wondering.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Nudity, do I really have to say this every time? So the first half of the fight, Fairy Tale battle music, for the latter. Blood on the Cobblestones Witcher 3. Or at least that was want I was listening too.**

Fight Time

Herian swept up into her Thanes room and collected parchment and writing tools. She wasn't cut out for this shit! She swept out into the balcony and sat swiftly, her quill in ink, the page end up splotched and crinkled in her haste.

 _HOW DO YOU DO IT!?_

She forgot her usually curtsies, her emotions boiled inside of her. The Witcher LONGED to FIGHT! This wasn't her thing, politics were for sorceress.

 _How do you deal with people? How do go through life knowing all you care about is but a flitter in the wind? Ned_

She crossed out Ned.

 _Lord Stark and I told his foolish fat, selfish King that his wife has been cuckolding him for years. I gave a few suggestions about how to deal with it, but BY THE FUCKING NINE! I am not cut out for this shit! If it weren't for the fact I gave Lord Stark. My word that I would protect him, I would be anywhere but here. Politics are SO STUPID! So is having to look out for someone, I don't like it! It's like walking on eggshells, at least Harimand can look after himself._

Herian sighed and took a deep breath.

 _I spend most of my days and nights trying to figure out how to keep my Thane alive. And by extension his King. But plougin fucking hells, he does not make it easy. I was not made for this! I was made to fight! I crave the battlefield right now, I want someone to say. Go clear that field! Anything! I would take a contact for Drowners right now! I would let you teach me your plane flattening magics! And you know I loath those. Gods I need to put my energy into something! I need to fight!_

 _The humans are so strange, I don't understand what goes through there heads half the time. Plus MY Thane has this thing with his honour. You and I both know that honour will get you killed! I can see its noose around his neck, just waiting for someone to come along and tighten it._

Her writing was nowhere near its usually elegance, her frustration was being vented into her words.

 _How do you do it? How do you navigate this shit storm?_

Her quill near snapped in her hand.

 _I am going to go find someway to vent, maybe beat the shit out of the Kings Guard. Please write back as fast as you can. I need your wisdom, I need to talk to someone I understand._

The Witcher leaped to her feet, put the letter in her box and stormed back out of the room.

She blew past Ned and Robert, and took the stairs four at a time, a few times jumping from one flight clear to the other.

She heard the two lurched to their feet, but payed them no mind. People took one look at the elf then got out of the way, she ignored them when they followed, moving with single minded determination towards the training yard.

Ned and Robert wove their way after the elf, but damn was she fast right now. Ned worried at the dark look he had seen on her face. What in the seven hells was going through her mind?

When she arrived there was a full contingent of guards at practice. She strode over to the practice swords, dull blades and pulled two off the rank. Not bothering to test them.

The Man-At-Arms approached the fuming elf, taken aback at her appearance but more at her rage. He had seen it many times, but usually in men that had been pushed just a bit too far.

"What do you need?" He asked.

"Whoever you can spare, I need to hit something. And when they go down, keep them coming." The elf said through grit teeth and moved her way to centre of the large sand plain.

"You three!" The Man-At-Arms pointed to three guards in full plate. "The Hands bodyguard needs some targets. When you go down get out of the way."

The three looked like they wanted to protest, but one look at their commander and they wisely shut up.

Instead they fanned out and approached the elf, they would forever remember her eyes burning like fire.

Herian tightened her grip on the swords and when they were five meters away, exploded.

"RAAA!" She moved with such speed and strength the sand was kicked up in her way.

She leaped up into the sky, a spinning into her first strike.

The first man gave a startled scream and raised his shield. The blade carved a long ugly gash, down the tower shield and Herian spun under it and chopped the back of his legs with her second sword.

The armour crumpled under the force and the guard gave a pained cry.

Her leg shot up and her knee slammed into the mans side, the force sending him flying into the ground.

The other two didn't have time to back away, but they were well trained.

The first moved to plant his shield and the other dropped his and brought both his hands to his blade.

Herian gave them a lupine grin and fired off again. She threw her shoulder forward and collided with the shield guard, the force grove him back in the sand with ease. She reversed the grip on her right blade and sent her fist into his side, hooked her fingers and heaved!

She lifted the man clear above her and tossed him carelessly away behind her into the dirt.

The second knight gave a shout and attacked, his blade coming in for her middle.

Her reversed blade blocked him faster then his eye could follow and in the same moment her second blade found itself at his neck.

"Dead." She growled at the terrified man.

The Man-At-Arms quickly sent four more men into the fray, he was beginning to gauge Herian, and was already seeing the merits of sending as many of his men as he could against her. It was very rare someone of her skill level would find oneself at his yard. He was going to make the best use of her.

Ned stared wide eyed at his bodyguard, only now starting to grasp what that meant! Jory Cassel had found his way to his Lords side. Ned turned to him and said swiftly.

"Go get Ice, and her two black blades."

"Right away my Lord." The man nodded. He would be sad to miss the show, but a bigger one was on the horizon.

The four new men rushed at Herian together, having seen her put their brothers down in under ten seconds.

The Witcher grinned, teeth shining and raced to meet them.

The first two raced up together, both shield walling.

Herian dropped her swords, a step away from them, vaulted up into the sky, spinning to grab the heavy plate of their shoulders.

With a great heave her body arching the air, she pulled both clear off the ground and when her feet hit the ground, she roared like a dragon and set them flying back the way they had come.

The other two didn't give their fallen comrades even a glance. Both rushed at the weaponless elf.

Herian dropped to the ground to avoid the blades coming for her neck, rolled backwards and picked up the discarded shields. One right side up, the other up-side down.

Normally they would have laughed at his, but when she didn't even try to fix it but exploded forth at them again.

She came in low, the up side down shield connected with one guards stomach bending him over it. The other slammed into his side as his sword fell from his fingers, the force sending him spinning into the ground.

The last guard bore his blade down on her exposed back, only for her to snap her second shield back to block it. She dropped the reversed shield and sent her fist ploughing into his stomach. Again the force double him over and cranked his armour, he fell instantly and before he had hit the ground Herian had spun away and picked up two new swords.

More men came onto the field, this time with pages to pull the fallen men away lest they get underfoot.

"Now this is more like it!" The Witcher raced forward to meet the men.

Cersei, Jamie and Joffery had heard of the commotion, and had come to the field in haste. Though to be fair, the entirety of the small council had been on the way. When shouts of the Hand of the Kings bodyguard was in a rage and making her way to the training yard, had reached their ears.

The first guard wielded a claymore, he was put down in seconds, only two moves on Herians part. One to deflect his swing with on of her blades, the other two sweep his feet out from under him.

The party of guards surrounded the elf, she let them then when they fought they had her surrounded. She moved in the legendary Witcher fighting stance of Whirl.

Her blades accelerated, fuck passing for human. The first strike made there arms ring the second hit, head, arm, leg, back, she rose and fell through stances, each sword working independently.

Their blades collided in sparks, armour screamed when the dull blades racked it over and over. A kick sent a guard flying to not rise again, pages raced in to pull him from the field and to get medical attention.

Herian blew out of the circle, only to surge back into the fray, no longer bothering with human fighting styles. She leaped, spun and kicked caught one guard's head in the crook of her knee then sent him flying backward into the sand.

She jabbed through the guard of another, then with the flat of her blade heaved and sent him stumbling to the side. A kick to another chin sent one flying into another.

Two minutes after the third wave was sent, another was needed to follow.

Ned was entranced, Herian was a force of sheer destruction, he had never seen her equal. With maybe the exception of Arthur Dayne, though Herian wasted no time in shattering the human limits. She wasn't fighting, she was going through the guard, if they didn't band and fight together, they didn't last more than four moves, provided her ripost didn't get them right away.

When she lashed out her face was contorted in a roar! He could see the glee in her eyes, the fire, lust, her snarl was one of pure exhilaration.

Jory returned huffing and out of breath, Jon was carrying Herian's blades as he as his sisters had followed.

Ayra pushed her way to the front of the crowd her eyes widened at Herian's battle fury.

Ned quickly grabbed all three blades and matched out into the field.

With a great booming voice, that he almost never used. One that he reserved for the battle field. "HERIAN INDORIL OF GREAT HOUSE TELVANNI!"

The Elf decked her last guard and turned to her Thane, a smile spreading wide as she saw him.

Ned tossed the long ugly black blades at her.

Herian snatched them out of the sky and unsheathed them in the same moment.

Ned ripped Ice from its sheath, and levelled her with a strong icily look, but a fire not unlike Herian's own bubbled underneath. Excitement. Loudly so all could hear. "If you are all warmed up. Come and get me."

The crowd waited with baited breath, Ned was well know for refusing to fight for an audience. Yet here he was, the tall northman ready, claymore in hand.

The Lannisters had all collected together, Jamie was grinning as they watched from the upper level. He had wished to fight Ned, but seeing the Northman finally fight was probably as good as he was ever going to get. The other Lannisters save Joffery were viewing the fight much more critically. Cersei had started to fear Herian at the Tourney when she briefly battled the Mountian. Watching her go though the guard like a hot knife through butter had only cemented that fear. The Dunmer wasn't even killing all who went up against her, just beating, disabling and disarming. That arguably took much more skill them straight up killing.

Herian drew two deep breaths, flicked her blades and drove them into the sand. She tore off her shirt thankful she had chosen to wear a breast band that day, scooped up a piece of red cloth, tore it to a thin piece. Gathered up her blood red hair, and put it up high in a pony tail.

Rolling her shoulders she ripped the two curved blades from the sand. She cocked her head at him, taking two steps to the side, then she charged. Eyes alight, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, hair like a wildfire streaming out behind her.

Ned was temporarily taken off guard by a thought. "By the Old Gods, she beautiful."

Then Herian had leaped up into the air, her left blade Fang coming down for his right shoulder.

Ice whipped up to clash with Fang, the two blades screamed as Herian allowed Fang to slide down Ice, she dropped to the ground and followed through with Claw.

Ned anticipated his as he noted it was on her her favourite moves. He stepped back, revised his guard and swept up Ice up to meet her. It was satisfying to hear Claw scrape against his greatsword and to have Herian leap out of the way to the left, tumbling in the dirt a moment before rising fluidly back up, like a snake.

"FINALLY!" She shouted grinning ear to ear.

Like a cunning, vicious beast, Herian lowered herself close to the ground and leaped forward in a flash. She was like an arrow being let loose from an overly notched bow. Ned's eyes widened at the speed the elf used as she crossed the distance between them. It was only by the shine from her blades that finally slapped the man out of his strooper.

Both his hands clenching his sword, Ned took one step forward and swung. Ice, the massive blade that it was, was let loose upon the yard in a mighty swing. The silver blade arced through the air with a wide slice. A shield would have been torn in two by such a blow, and any man who came across it would have suffered a similar, if bloodier fate.

Across the short distance between the pair of swordsmen, the two forces moved. Herian charged like a vicious animal targeting her prey, while Ice carved through the landscape like a force of nature itself. The moment her eyes fell upon the blade however, the elf stopped. Herian came to a sudden halt, with one foot still extended in her stride.

In what seemed like a flash, a blur of steel brushed ever close to the elf's neck. Ice came within an inch of cutting into such a smooth patch of skin. Ned followed through with his swing. The blade swung around, sending a gust of wind through the entire area. Up above, the onlookers felt it as if it were the first signs of a storm brewing in the sky. Herian's hair on the other hand, was not as fortunate. The red locks were sent skyward, fluttering in the breeze. Once the duel had been concluded, a good brushing would surely be needed.

The elf bent her knees and leaped backwards once again. Too close. She had gotten too close, too fast. Eagerness had taken advantage of her at such a moment. Herian narrowed her eyes, her smirk still in place.

Cautious, Ned shifted his stance. The Stark shifted one foot forward and twisted his grip. The cold eyes of the North kept focus on the elf. Every twitch, every bounce in her step. He kept an eye on everything, even the smirk she held upon her lips.

For seconds, the air became tense. No one in the rafters dared to say a word. Sansa, Arya, and even the Lannisters kept their maws shut for what seemed like hours on end. The pair spent what amounted to a minute simply staring at each other, waiting to see who would make the first move. The elf held both blades in hand, and bounced up and down atop her back heel. Ned remained standing with his weapon extended at full length, ready to move at a moment's notice.

A moment that came, with a snap.

Herian leaped forward once again, just as fast as before. The elf kicked off from the floor with but a single step, sand flying and bounded across the yard. Ned narrowed his eyes and raised Ice back to his shoulder in an offensive guard. He swung the blade wide once again, cutting through the air with another gust following. Just as she reached where the blade would meet her however, Herian kicked off the ground yet again. Instead of leaping upward through and to the right. A few steps to the right, but opposite of where Ned's weapon would be travelling.

A smirk upon her face, Herian's leap of faith only lasted a foot or two. Once she felt the wind that followed the mighty blade pass on by, she smirked. The elf stopped yet again and kicked off the ground for a third time. She flipped her weapons around and threw herself forward at Ned in a flash. The onlookers above compared the Witcher to a rabbit, bouncing back and forth as a hound took turns swiping at it with its paw.

Sand and dirt were thrown into the air as Herian drew ever closer to Ned. The Stark, still stuck in mid-swing, turned his head and caught a glimpse at what was approaching. He had to think fast, or a Fang would surely be feasting on his neck before too long.

Thinking fast, Ned glanced at his sword. At the end of it's swing, the blade had stuck hard into the ground. It bore deep into the soft surface, almost as easy as it would a man's flesh. Now no longer in motion, its owner moved. Shifting in place, the Lord turned to his weapon, leaned down and yanked it free with both hands.

The blade in hand, Ned turned to his foe, raised its hilt, and stabbed forward. Backwards or not, the weapon thrust itself through the air, not unlike a spear. The only difference being the ends of which one would hold the weapon, and what would be facing an enemy.

Unprepared, Herian leaned her head to the side and ducked out of the way. Ice's hilt brushed barely against the skin of her cheek. If it held any sharpness to it, the hilt would have surely left a trail of blood dripping in its wake.

Herian whipped herself away and took a few steps back, giving Ned the time to collect himself. Her chest heaved, with a grin she flicked her blades in two arcs, loosening her arms and wrists.

Ned stood ready again.

"Round Two." Herian thought. "Time for a change of pace." The Lord had earned her respect in a short twenty second encounter, and she loved him for it.

Flicking both blades back to their standard position, she advanced in swift purpose full steps. Her strength rained in.

Fang meet Ice is another ear splitting screech and she advanced within his reach.

Ned was fast and within seconds of the first impact he reversed his guard and the greatsword was flying for Herian's head. Claw raced up to meet it and Herian fired forward trying to close the distance.

The guard of Ice shot forward and would have implanted itself in Herian's eye socket had she not ducked, then spun to strike at Neds back.

Ned released Ice with his right hand and spun, moving with her in the tightest of dances.

The elf dropped like a stone to avoid getting cleaved in two.

Both hands returned to Ice and Ned launched forward intent on impaling the elf. Herian rolled out of his reach and spun to stand again.

They circled, both on their toes as both would have nearly ended the other. Fights didn't usually go on like this, but they were evenly matched. Herian's strength and speed to Neds height, reach and skill.

Finally Ned went on the offensive, Ice coming in a lighting fast collection of arcs and swings.

Herian danced around the blade, bending under it like a reed. Small precise steps to avoid the blade by millimeters. She lashed out, Fang and Claw working in spinning tandem, but Ice kept her at bay.

Ned was silently thankful she had removed her shirt, he could watch the muscle of her torso give her next strike away. He was amazed he was doing so well. He had seen enough of Herian do know she was very very good, and yet. Clash after clash, arm jarring blow after blow, he kept her at bay. He noticed that she liked to rise up and down through guards, never staying on one plane for long.

Herian was getting frustrated, not to be taken negatively. She loathed greatswords, she didn't like using them and hated fighting against them. Ned had the by far superior reach and was making good use of it. Over and over she tried getting through his guard, but the northman was also fast learner, all the tricks she had used on the guards. He was waiting for, she was diving into her bag of tricks very quickly, falling deeper and deeper into old lessons.

Ice raced for her stomach again, Ned stepping forward with a great sweeping strike that would bisect her nicely.

Herian dove for the sand rolled and reversed her grip, she fired up from the ground and set both pummels straight into Lord Starks stomach.

Ned felt himself lift slightly off the ground with the force of the blow, with a sharp movement brought Ice's pummel down on Herians exposed back.

The elf dropped and tumbled away from the Stark.

Ned doubled over and clenched his stomach, it hurt and he would bruise but not too bad. He glanced down and noted he had got Herian much better than she had him.

The Lord could see where Ice had cut her wrists when she went around the blade to get to him. She was missing a noticeable amount of flesh, when she rolled away and stood a large purple Ice shaped bruise could be seen on her back also bleeding.

The Witcher was still grinned, she rose straight and tossed Claw away, switching Fang to her right hand. She brought both hands to the Daedric scimitar and raised to up to her ear, falling into a deep stance.

Jon recognized the move for what it was, a shift from Tamrielic techniques to Witcher ones.

Herian launched forward making a straight thrust for Neds chest. Ice batted Fang away but Herian did not retreat, she side stepped and lowered herself going for Neds stomach again.

With a screech the blades met again, as Ned caught Fang Ice's large guard. The elf launched a rain of rapid fire strikes, Ned backing up blocking blow after blow. With a step and twist, the power shifted and the Witcher was on the defensive. Over hand right, left, right, right, Fang was pointed downward, moving to defend against Ice over and over. The foot-work was faster now, neither giving an inch, they quickly began moving around the whole courtyard.

Jon was entranced, he had never seen his father fight with such zeal. Though he was sure his father would never admit it, he was enjoying this. His mentor too, he knew she loved a challenge, watching the two go at it was like watching a dance. Speed, strength, grace, skill, the most fluid and powerful dance. No lies, no tricks, just a pure expression of themselves. They were practically on top of each other, back and forth back and forth. Ice blurring through the air to met Fang. Herian was no longer smiling, but Jon recognized it as the look she got when fighting like a Witcher. Witchers didn't give into emotion, this wasn't play anymore.

This was testing, pushing ever harder.

Herian's mind was a blank blurr of feeling, the pain when their blades met with bone crushing force, the joy of the fight and burning feeling that she didn't know the name of. Ned was igniting something new and strange within her, not unlike what she had felt that morning but much greater. It confused her but she didn't have the spare thought to dwell on it.

Sparks rained down throughout the courtyard as the blades clashed back and forth. The mighty broadsword and Fangs cut, slashed, and stabbed against each other at such a speed that for most, there was nothing but a blur. Ned stood tall, taking only the most necessary steps when he had to. A step back, a slide to the left, and a leap forward. Both his hands remained tight around Ice's hilt, the mighty sword didn't even budge from the man's grasp. He raised the mighty blade high and the air and slashed down with a smash of force.

Herian raised one of her Fangs and angled it sideways. The Stark's sword came down and met the blade with a painful crack. Sparks flew through air, followed by a sharp crack. In the upper stands, both men and women covered their ears at the sudden noise. It cut through the air like butter, somewhat like the blades themselves. As the two weapons met however, Ice tilted somewhat to the side. With the angle they met, Ned's weapon slid off the elf's and slammed into the ground. The sudden blow sent sand flying into the air, like a dust cloud sent skyward by the wind.

Seeing a chance, Herian dropped the arm she used to trade blows with Ned and stabbed forward with her other. The Stark leaned his head to the left, just barely dodging the blade. Instead, the Fang sliced its way into the man's hair. No blood was drawn, though he would be missing a few strands of hair now.

Ned struck with his elbow, smashing his arm across Herian's chin. The thick layer of bone sent a pulse of pain all across the bottom of the elf's face.

Herian rebounded off the blow with a flip backwards. Like a fireball fluttering into the sky, the elf tumbled through the air and landed upright, right on the back of her heels. As she landed, the Witcher raised a hand and rubbed her chin. Her skin felt red, burning, and rather raw. It felt similar to when a lucky drunkard got a lucky shot in the middle of an all out brawl.

Raising her eyes, chest heaving, Herian smirked.

Opposite the elf, Ned ripped Ice free from the ground, raising it to an offensive high guard. While he had no reaction, the Stark felt his elbow twitch. A low bit of pain crawled its way up the Stark's arm, focusing its attention at the intersection. The blow had been one made out of reflex, but now? Had he smacked a person's chin, or an iron shield?! It surely felt like the latter.

Herian rubbed her chin. "Ow." she muttered just loud enough for the Stark to here. She was very impressed, she hadn't opened up into the Whirl form yet, but Ned had still met her strike for strike. Her arm was also getting tired, and slightly numb, she tossed the blade to her other hand and rolled her shoulder watching the Stark. She wished he would say something, her blood was pounding too loudly in her ears to pick anything up from him.

The elf tucked her right arm behind her hip and fell into a more neutral defensive stance.

Ned whipped Ice back up and advanced on the elf. Herian met him midway, Fang and Ice met with another ear splitting screech. At the very last moment Herian launched down the length of Ice, locked guards and then she heaved!

Ice and Fang went flying, Herian wasn't worried about holding on to her blade, if it meant getting Ice away from the Lord.

Ned threw himself forward and ploughed them both into the sand. When Herian tried to wriggle away he caught both her hands and pinned them above her head, using his bulk to pin her down. "Yield."

No, this was to much fun! Herian squirmed, bring a leg up to buck him off.

Ned transferred both her wrists one hand and used the other to force her legs apart, pressing his pelvis to hers. Ignoring the woots and calls that caused.

The elfs' brain trickled out her ears and she stopped, her eyes wide, pupils equally so. Her mind was absolutely empty, it was an odd thing for her but this was a host of new feelings. That were very good at shutting down any higher brain function.

Unaware of what might have been going on inside the elf's head, Ned shook his head. He gripped her wrists tightly and pushed down upon her yet again. For some reason, her struggling lessened somewhat. Herian still kicked about and tried to rip herself free, but it was only half the effort of what came before.

Regardless, Ned gritted his teeth and repeated himself, "Yield. Now."

Herian licked her lips and tried to find her voice, her jaw worked up and down, but words refused to form. Instead she slowly nodded, he won, unconsciously she offered him her throat. Lord Stark had beat her, the first person outside of her family to do so. This was someone she could submit too.

The nod, slight as it was, signalled the end of the duel.

Spotting the gesture, Ned swiftly returned it. The man's rough hands eased up and released her wrists. Herian's arms flopped to her sides, free from the uncomfortable angle her Thane had twisted them in. The crowd was disappointed as the Stark rose to his feet. The King's Hand stood tall in the sandy field, his body beaten and bruised. Ice sat a fair distance away, it too resting from the twisted assault the Witcher's Fang had dealt the mighty weapon.

Herian rolled onto her side. Her lungs emptied with a gust of air, one she hadn't even been aware she had been holding. The fog of thoughts that had filled her mind slowly began to lift, though not entirely. The emotions, the feelings, and the thoughts were still there, clinging to the inside of her brain like a leech who refused to let go despite how much one burned it. When compared to her Thane, the elf didn't feel even remotely as worn out. Quite the opposite really, thanks to the lull. Her legs were itching to move, fists ready for another round. In any other circumstances, she would be up and ready for more.

For now though, this was it. She had lost. For the first time in only the god's could know how long, Herian had been beaten. Fair and square in a one on one fight. She could barely believe it, the concept felt nearly impossible. Westeros had men of skill and strength, but when compared to a Witcher with wolf's blood, they were rather meek in comparison. Or, so she had thought.

The crowd erupted into cheers and screams the moment the battle came to an end. Sansa and her sister cheered for her father, as did many who watched. Both men and women cheered and clapped for the Stark. In response to the insane speed of the elf, many stood shocked at how well the man had kept up with her. The mere fact he wielded a colossal sword when compared to her blades was a feat in itself.

Ned was not the only one to earn some cheers however. Herian received her fair share of the cheering as well. The Lannisters offered little, though that was not much of a surprise. In fact, the family looked more disappointed that no blood had been spilt. Of course, the elf also earned herself a few looks that went a bit too far to be merely respect for her fighting style. Thankfully for that lot, the Witcher was far too busy with her own thoughts to notice, for now.

Herian slowly picked herself up and looked up at her Thane, then smiled, not that fierce grin but one of pure delight. After a moment's contemplation, she hugged him a quick thirty second tops hug. "No one outside of my family has ever beaten me before."

She stepped back and swept into a bow, one hand on her chest, the other extended out word, one foot back. "It was a pleasure, my Thane. I am glad to be in your service. I see you now."

She understood him a fair bit better now, each step and strike had told her a story. He had always had her respect and loyalty, but she didn't really understand him. Now she did, that grudging respect had boomed. The elf no longer cared that he was human, this battle had proven that, that didn't matter.

Caught rather off guard with the hug, Ned took a quick moment to compose himself. Once finished, he bowed his head and returned the gesture in turn, "As do I you. In all my days, I can't say I've ever had a fight quite like that before."

In all of his years, the Lord of the North could name many a person who he had traded blades with. From mercenaries to soldiers, to even the most dangerous men in all the Seven Kingdoms to ever take up a blade. On fight in particular remained burned into the back of the Stark's head, a moment that he had come so close to death that he had mistaken his foe for Death itself for a short time. But of all these fights, his heart had never rocked his ribcage as quick as the one the Witcher had given him.

From the way she moved to the methods she attacked, it was almost impossible to predict what the woman was about to do. At some points, Ned had even wondered if she had changed back into that wolf beast yet again. Half the time the elf moved much more like an animal than a person with blades in her hands. She had even sent chills down his neck. One look at the smirk upon the Witcher's face had almost stopped the man dead in his tracks.

Ned even felt a bit conflicted now that the matter was over. On one hand, he almost wished they could have continued till the moment neither of them could move. The rush the Stark had felt was unlike anything he had ever felt. But then again, if the two continued as they were, it was hard to guess if one of them wouldn't have ended up with a steel blade lodged in their throat or not.

Perhaps some things were best left unknown.

Herian giggled, she couldn't help it, her cheeks and chest were still flushed. "That really was something else." She rolled her shoulder and winced, and looked over her shoulder.

"You alright?" Ned stepped toward her a hand extended.

"Fine, just got sand in that cut you gave me. It won't heal till I get it cleaned." The cuts on her wrists had already mended.

"Then by all means, let us head back to the tower. You and I both need a bath. I'll help with it then." He walked away and retrieved Fang and Ice. While Herian got her shirt and pulled it awkwardly on, collected Claw and the scabbards.

Once all three blades were tucked safely back away. After a thank you to the Man-At-Arms, who responded that it was a pleasure to watch two masters at work. He offered them his field whenever they wanted it.

The walk back was very different than the one out. Ned caught one of his household servants and asked for a large bath with plenty of hot water be moved to his rooms. The two walked side by side the whole way back, in companionable silence. Their steps perfectly in tune with each other.

Ned felt lighter than he had since Catelyn died, maybe the woman was on to something when it came to fighting for shear pleasure. It was a release and while he had misgivings about showing his cards en-front of just about every person of importance. Herian had made it so worth it, he would have to ask her opinion on doing that again. Without risk of losing limbs, and privately.

The elf smiled the whole way back, sure her back hurt and her jaw was still stinging. However Ned had gone from a human that kept her from freezing to death, to someone she could respect. It was one thing running the North, but was impressive all on its own, as was the work as the Kings Hand. Herian both understood that and didn't, it wasn't something she could identify with. Combat was, it was the highest form of expression save one, and that one she didn't have any experience with. Knowledge yes, experience no.

By the time they got back to their room, the bath had arrived and been filled. Extra pitchers with water standing by and nervous serving girls.

"You may go, we can tend to ourselves." The Stark said when they arrived and Herian waited till they were gone before peeling her shirt off.

Ned watched her struggle for a moment, then helped. A memory that he had forgotten resurfaced. Long ago back on the Kingsroad, when the letter about Catelyn had arrived. Herian had tried to help him, held him when he broke down and cried. This stirred something deep in his gut, it was a hard feeling to place, but it was present and that is what counts.

Once they got her shirt off he winced, the cut had started to ooze puss.

"It has festered." He rested a hand on her shoulder.

Herian sighed. "That is accelerated healing for you. If you could just recut it and clean it, I'd be grateful."

"Of course." Ned retrieved a cloth and bowl while Herian moved to stand by his desk.

Once settled he carefully opened the wound and set about cleaning it, sand was very painful. Her muscles would often twitch sporadically.

"Sorry." He said softly and finished swiftly.

Herian nodded a quiet thank you, and moved to step away.

Ned caught her arm and carefully touched right beside the cut again. He could see the bruising fading, he watched as the flesh knitted itself back together. Scared, then faded away, all within two minutes.

He gently touched the now flawless skin. "How does that work?"

Understanding, though distracted by his hand, she said. "I heal back to a state of perfection, only wounds of a magical nature don't heal right and take more time."

The raven haired man ran a finger over the bite marks on her shoulder and collarbone, right next to her neck. "And this?"

"Higher vampire, I had come into contact with her once and she nearly killed me. The next time I took a black blood potion before chasing her, so when she caught and bit me again. Well, it went my way." Herian bite her lip to keep from shivering, she was hyper aware of the man behind her.

"Black blood?" Ned drew away and started undressing, discarding tunic and breeches, leaving them by the door for the servants.

Herian followed suit, she was going to make him bathe first, but she wanted out of sweaty breeches and breast band. She arranged her hair over her breasts for his comfort, and slung a towel around her waist. "It's a type of poison, it won't hurt me." She walked over to her table and pulled off her amulets and rings. "But it makes my blood toxic to necrophages, vampires higher and lower, as well as a few other monsters. So when I get bit, it harms then. It often tips the scales."

She averted her eyes when the Lord discarded the last of his clothing and stepped into the tub.

Ned let out a groan that made her smile, his eyes shut and he lounged in the water.

"Feeling better my Thane?" Herian asked walking over to the tub, then around behind him. She grabbed a pillow from a chair on the way and set it on the floor.

"Much," he peeked out the corner of his eye to glance at the elf. "What are you doing?"

She picked up a pitcher and smiled warmly.

"Alright." Ned bowed over so water wouldn't splash over the sides of the tub as Herian carefully poured water over his hair, till it was good and wet. As he resumed his former position, she picked up a bar of lavender scented soap, then wet it and her hands.

"You don't have to do this you know." The man said as she started to work the soap into his straight black hair.

"I know, but I'd rather be busy, than waiting my turn." Herian started on her magical nerve ending massage and Ned relaxed further with his own pleased groan. "Besides I owe you a massage."

Ned could only purr as she worked him over, she stopped regularly to re-soap her hands and even did his beard and neck.

Though that was more for her own curiosity, she marvelled at the different rougher texture of it.

Such an odd pleasant feeling this was, no one else had washed his hair since he had been a child. Herian's fine masterful hands worked magic. When she got to his shoulders he sluggishly leaned forward so she could continue, but it moved to more of a wash as the angle didn't allow for massage. After rising him again, she offered him the cloth so he could tend to the rest of himself.

While he did Herian moved to the windows and threw them open, a pleasant sea breeze flowed through the room, then she picked a brush, sat on the eve and set to her work on her hair.

When Ned was done he summoned the servants again and they changed the water of the tub and refilled the pitchers. He wrapped a towel around his waist and called out to Herian.

"Your turn." The Stark chose not to redress, it was a hot day and the breeze was pleasant.

Herian hopped off the window sill and made her way over, she carefully stepped into the tub and slowly sat in the centre of it.

It was a bit cooler than she liked it, but it felt wonderful. Before the water could get to dirty she dipped herself completely underneath and relished in the feeling. Her hair floating freely around, the soft swish noise it made against her ears. When she rose back out, Ned found his breath caught in his throat.

Water was a bit of a no go in the North, unless it was a hotspring swimming meant death. However seeing the water flow of the ashen skinned left over perky full breasts with dark red nipples, made him forget about Cat for a rare moment.

The expression on Herian's face was one of pure calm, her eyes softly shut, lips parted, head back causing her hair to flow down her back. But it was the soft sound she made, the sigh of pleasure that kept him rooted to the spot.

His male brain took that sound to all sorts of other scenarios, he pulled his gaze away before other parts of his body betrayed him. He picked out some brown breeches from his things and set about working a comb through his hair to distract him from the elf.

Herian was blissfully unaware of her Thanes reaction, instead she was working soap through her long mane and humming softly. The elf quickly decided it was lovely to have a bath again, if a bit tepid. There was nothing quite like a good soak and the weightless feeling of being in water.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Herian asked as she washied her hair, it was a much longer processes than for her Thane.

"Home, my father was a great weapons master, and from my enemies." The Stark finished with the comb and returned it to its place. Rather than leaving he sat on the end of his bed, he had finished most all the paperwork of the morning that morning. So he had some free time.

"Such is life." The elf said, standing to pick up a small pitcher and its contents over her head.

Ned tried not to notice the sway of her breasts. "What about you?"

"The two bladed fighting I learned from my aunt Keria, rather late in my life. The other style, that one I grew up learning. It is the style that Witchers use." She stood and set about washing her torso, facing away from Ned.

"I noticed, the second style seemed much more refined."

Herian sat and tended to her legs. "It is, both in its creation and my skill with it." Then tended to the rest of her under the water. "Hand me that brush please?" She asked pointing at a brush.

Ned nodded and collected the item, he resisted running his hand over it. It was a fine make a light metal he didn't recognize, he was about to hand it to her when he reconsidered. "Let me, you did mine."

The redhead, move to sit at the wall of the tub. "Alright."

Ned pulled a stool over and collected her long locks from the water. Beyond his own hair, he had never done this before, Catelyn had always had her maids to her hair.

The elfs locks were silky and thick, despite the knots. The colour reminded him of blood and fire, he started at the ends and worked his way up.

Herian purred, if she had had to brush it today, she would have been more likely to take a knife to it. Having someone else do it was lovely and considerably less frustrating. Plus he was so careful, she sagged against the side of the tub and dozed.

Ned had to smile slightly when she started to purr, it rose and fell with her breath. He filed that piece of information away, it was very easy to tell when she was happy.

A minute or two after he finished and Herian was rinsed again, a knock sounded on the door.

Herian got out of the tub reluctantly and wrapped a towel around herself.

"Come in." Lord Stark called out.

First came his children then the servants to collect the tub.

"That was amazing!" Ayra said bounding up to the two.

The elf blushed, and Ned chuckled. "Just wait till you can do that, your water dancer speaks well of your progress."

Ayra beamed and Herian picked a chair, wrapping a lock of hair around her finger.

Sansa hadn't really got on with Herian, they didn't dislike each other. They just didn't have anything in common, but seeing the elfs head of long wet hair was just too tempting to pass up. "I can braid it if you like." The little lady offered.

Herian blinked once confused then smiled warmly. "Sure."

Sansa quickly got to playing with the red locks, they liked to curl around her fingers as she tried to straighten them.

Jon, with this ebony blade over his shoulder picked another chair. "I beat the court will be talking about that for weeks."

Ned winced. "Probably." He sat in the last chair, the servants returned with mulled wine and fruit.

Ayra attacked an apple. "Is that why you didn't fight in the tourney? You didn't want people to see how good you are?"

"Partly, I don't like to mock fight for an audience. Having the element of surprise is important." The Lord poured himself some wine and sipped at it, he was glad that it was more water flavoured wine, than the reverse.

"I guess so." Ayra said.

"It works both ways." Herian chipped in. "Having our enemy unaware of what you can do is one thing. But if they are aware, they might avoid getting into a fight altogether. But showing your skill will often also get you challengers, it is very much a trade off."

Jon adjusted his grip on the heavy ebony blade. "How do you pick?"

"Preference." Ned said.

Herian turned her head slightly towards Ned.

"Stop moving." Sansa said.

"Sorry." The elf muttered, but was looking between Ned and Jon. "Though this does give me an idea."

"Oh?" Jon asked.

"Well, I stink at greatswords, not much good fighting with them, or against them. Ned would be a far better teacher than I for the Ice Blade I gave you."

Jon looked over to his father hope blooming in his chest.

Ned frowned and thought on it. "That idea does have its merits." Catelyn was not here to chew him out and make him feel guilty. "Alright, tomorrow morning."

The family settled to talk about whatever came to mind. Sansa finished work her work and left Herian with a tight northern braid.

 **Before anyone chews me out, the picking up the sword by the blade is a technique called Half Handing. Look it up if you are interested, I would recommend Swords Path and Skallagrim on youtube. We did do our homework, but at the end of the day I know WAY more about sword and shield, and duel weapon fighting then I know about claymores. Keep in mind both Swords Path and Skallagrim are HEMA fighters, it is ONE style and not the absolute. There are some REALLY scary SCA fighters.**

 **In other news, yes I am very slowly moving this story along, and I wield symbolism and foreshadowing like hammers. That said, I am on the fence about sexual content for this story. So I shall do this, if LOTS of people want sexual content and SAY SO, then I will included it, otherwise I won't and will have an explicit version of this story on Archive of our own. So I still get to have my fun. Given that in the this month the last chapter has had over seven hundred views, it really shouldn't be to hard for people to speak up.**

 **That said thank you to the ten people who reviewed the last chapter, made our days. Also a huge shout out to** Drakshaa, **we live for that kind of review! It was awesome, made me smile and gave me a few things to touch on, I hope my PM cleared up your questions.**

 **T** **here done, I hate doing authors notes.** **Again thank you for the reviews, I hope that the momentum can be kept, also feel free to analyze the shit out of this fight. There is a LOT going on.**


	16. Chapter 16

Reflections

Varys and Petyr Baelish, watched the fight between Herian and Ned from the upper level of the yard, the same as the Lannisters.

They could see the trails the two combats made in the sand as they danced.

"She is going to win." Petyr said, smiling.

"No, Lord Stark." Varys watched the two closely, they were well matched. Neds control to Herian's fury, she reminded him of the Northern besterkers. Her twin blades seeking Neds blood. Though he saw how the blades, clashed, each combatant was doing last minute twists to save the edges of their blades. Apparently neither wanted to risk damaging their swords.

"Herian is faster, and we know stronger." Petyr countered.

"Do we? Lord Stark is doing very well. I would wager that their strength is equal, though he as the advantage in reach and weight. All he needs to do is get her under him and the battle is his." The eunuch, crossed his arms, hiding his hands in his large golden sleeves.

Petyr scoffed. "Getting her under him would probably do a great deal more than allow him to win. She seems the kind of woman that needs a strong hand in bed."

"Must you make everything sexual?" Varys said in a bored tone.

"Pleasure is my trade, those two are practically fucking right now."

Herian had discarded her second sword, and the two were dancing ever more closely.

Varys had to agree, the high the two were on was obvious to those looking for it. "Neither of them realize it."

"Are you sure?" Petyr asked.

"Yes. They both are too in the moment and honour bound to see what is right in front of them. And I believe that Lord Stark is still in mourning, he as avoids every court dinner. And the advances of any number of Ladies."

"Lord Stark is infamous for disliking large events, perhaps he just favours the company of his bodyguard. She sleeps in his room I am told."

"Before the fireplace, not in her Lords bed."

Petyr almost glared, he hadn't know that piece of information.

"Some say she doesn't sleep at all. That she is a northern spirit given physical form." Petyr looked out to watch the combatants, he smiled. The fight had evolved again, practically courtship. The flashing blades reminded him of birds, strutting their stuff.

"She eats, sleeps, bathes just like the rest of us. I find it more likely she is from beyond the wall or across the seas." Varys stated.

"It doesn't explain her skin or ears, or any physical feature. I almost miss that black armour of hers. A few of my best clients have enquired after her, they say she has a 'perfect grace'."

"I think we should be thankful she doesn't know about your clients." Though Varys was inclined to agree when Herian leaped away from Ned slipping through the air, before landing perfectly. Even her long stride, had an elegance to it, one fuelled by power.

"I don't know about that, she has a weakness. My birds tell me she still has burned brands on her wrists."

"Don't do anything foolish, if she catches someone snooping she is likely to react very negatively. You might have to scrap your little birds off the stonework."

"There is that." Petyr admitted.

Herian disarmed Ned and the Northman pounced on her, their hips flushed together.

"See practically fucking."

"She does seem rather comprised." Varys smiled very slightly.

Petyr recognized her expression as the one a virgin took when being touched for the first time. That was a piece of information he would have to file away.

"He should at least kiss the woman after a show like that." Petyr said.

Varys only smirked.

They watched as the elf shrugged for a moment, but gave in and clapped along with everyone else.

"That was informative." Varys commented.

"Very." Petyr swept away.

Jamie was entranced watching the fight, he was very glad that Ned had turned him down. His perfect Kingsguard armour wouldn't remain so if he went up against the taller, stronger, faster Northman. Especially if it was Ice in Lord Starks hands.

The Stark and the Elf fought on a different level to the rest of them, he wondered when Lord Stark had gotten so good. There had been another war since Robert took the throne, so he would have practised. There was the story that he had killed Arthur Dayne, but it was just that a story.

It had been a long time since then, so maybe that explained it. He wondered how a melee against The Hound, or The Mountain would go.

When the battle grew to a close, Ned on top of the woman. Jamie couldn't help but smirk, he had been right when he thought that Herian was quite pretty under her armour. He envied Lord Stark, he as sure many a man would be fantasizing about having that warrior woman under them.

Some men loved a woman who put up a fight, he wondered if Eddard was the same. The labour of the Starks chest could be chalked up to any number of things.

When it was over Cersei grabbed both and Joffery away to her rooms.

"Something wrong sister?" Jamie was with this famous smile.

"Wrong? Wrong? You saw those two! They!" The woman stormed to her table, poured herself some strong wine and took a long sip. "We must avoid angering both of them."

"What?!" Joffery exclaimed. "I would have her head! She threatened me!"

"You need to develop a thicker skin." Jamie said, for once he agreed with this sister.

Joffery glared at him.

"She did threaten you, but you weren't in any danger. Eddard was there, and she listens to him. If no one else. Herian was playing you, just waiting for you to snap. She clearly doesn't like us, and is protective of the Starks. You were making Lady Sansa unhappy and she stepped in."

"I take it this happened at your lunch with the Starks?" Jamie said sitting in a chair by the window.

"She change her hand like at the tourney and touched Joffery with her claws." Cersei shuddered.

"The rumour is that she is a skinchanger." Jamie said.

"Skin changer?" Joffery asked, sitting by his uncle.

"A northern legend. People that can become animals." Jamie supplied.

"A silly northern legend." Cersei corrected finally sitting herself.

"Perhaps less so than we thought, there are any number for strange things in the north." Her younger brother said.

"That explains her animal behaviour." Joffery grumbled. "Mother I don't want to marry the Stark girl, even more if that creature protects her."

"I have already explained it to you." Cersei smiled grimly at her son.

"We can't do anything, let's just let the sleeping wolf lie." Jamie said, smiling at his double meaning.

Gregor Clegane was deep in his cups after the tourney, he and his men visiting the brothel one last time before making their way back to his lands. He wanted to crush that tiny woman under him, he had had her! Then something happened and his tiny pup of a brother got in the way.

A passing barmaid refilled his cup and all but ran away. To make matters worse his brother had gone and won the tourney! That made his blood boil. The man downed the last of his drink in one shot then went to find a red headed whore.

Robert was stunned watching the elf and the Lord of the North go at it. Ned was better then he remembered, much better than he remembered. They two were far faster than he had seen at the tourney, these were masters. Valkerian steel was light, giving Ned a much needed edge. By the way Jory had been carrying the black blades, they were heavy.

It was incredible, the rapid strikes the foot work. It hit him like a great hammer to the gut, Ned had only improved with age. What had he done? Drank and whored his skill away? Ruined a marriage that could have been better if only he had tried.

Now he had no heirs and a wife that would probably try to kill him.

He thought about getting in on that fight, but watching made him face all he had done. The fact of the matter was that even Ned, not counting his friend. The King was horribly outclassed, he had felt rage, but that had past, now it was despair. How casually Herian had mentioned the condition of her kind, centuries of life, a life of battle. Now she was stuck with him, and Ned trying to keep them safe from their own stupidity. It would be plenty to drive anyone to a need for release. He wondered what that would be like, to know, to have to watch, all those around you age. To give your leash to someone that would only live a fraction of your life.

Robert suddenly pitied her, watching strike after strike, again, again. To be so far from home, lost in a place that she didn't understand. A people so different from her own, and fools the lot of them. The elf lashed out, pounding down on her lord, fierce and wild. His gut twisted, what had he done? Bring Eddard down here? The Lord was no different than the elf, neither belonged here. It made him want to yell, fight, but at the same time. It made him ill.

Before learning of Cersei, he would be out there fighting, now no, he had to get his act together. Eddard, his guard, almost any of them would be able to beat him, but none would dare.

His eyes were pulled back to the elf, her wild mane of fire, the grin on her lips. She's enjoying this. He realized, this was her version of fun. Suddenly all her bravo, her sneaking, her skill. There it was, right in front of him. Sand flew as she kicked off again to engage the Lord. The Lord that was always right, the lord that had tried to help him. His friend that he had taken from his home and probably indirectly caused the loss of his wife, and brought harm to Bran. If he had just stayed away, Ned would be home. Safe and happy, suddenly he had an idea why Herian disliked him so.

He would not fighting his bodyguard for fun, not fighting that grin that only comes with battlelust.

Lyanna would have liked Herian, they had the same manner. Though Lyanna was much politer, he doubted he would ever see Herian in a dress. Though he looked her over as she danced with Ned, she would look mighty fine in one. Lyanna would be ashamed of him now.

Robert rubbed his chest with a hand, no his time on the field was done. Maybe when he had fixed this mess he would try, but until then.

After the battle came to an end Robert returned to his rooms, picked up a quill and wrote to his godfather. It was high time to get started.

Tyrion and the Hound had found themselves caught in the rush to the training yard. Luckily the dwarf and hound found themselves with front row sets, standing not far from the Starks.

The Hound watched Sansa out of the corner of his eye. The poor girl was betrothed to Joffery, and still to afraid to look him in the eye. He felt sorry for her, she reminded him of his own story of bullying. It wasn't too bad yet, her father looked after his children. So far so good.

He turned his gaze to the girls' father and his sworn shield, at least that is what he assumed she was. He wished he could get in on that, they were brilliant. Sandor had no doubt that they could beat his brother to a bloody pulp. If rumours were to be believed she already had.

Tyrion was enjoying the show, he had heard about the Lord of the North's shadow. He didn't expect for it to be a young woman and a hellion to boot. Beating down on her Lord still the stride shifted and he was beating down on her. That creature had beaten up the Mountain and made the King ease up on his less than grand habits. Word was that she was loyal only to the Starks and only took orders from Eddard. No amount of bribing or blackmail would change that, not that anyone had anything to blackmail her with.

He wasn't much of a swordsman so he couldn't appreciate the skill that the two were employing. The Imp glanced up to see his family, Cersei looked ill, Joffery and Jamie were watching with absolute attention.

Tyrion found that rather odd, and turned his attention back to the elf. Her physique looked human, and yet…

When she coiled to string he could see the muscle thicken in her thighs. There was just something not quite right when she moved. Something strange, different, part of him wanted to take notes. Perhaps he would have to seek her out, watch for anything else odd.


	17. Chapter 17

***shoves plot along* I posted a poll on my profile about the content for this story. Seeing as no one said anything in reviews, I hope it is easier for people. Those who read Over sea and Sky, you are in for a treat in this chapter.**

Movements

Herian watched on high as the Lannisters were quietly packed off, back to their home.

Sandor stood beside her, trying to figure out the elf. Finally he said. "You did this."

The red-head smirked. "I only found and presented the evidence."

That was as good as doing it herself, Sandor thought. "Why did you ask for me?"

"Just to thank you for looking out for our 'Little Bird'." Herian rubbed salt on the wound waving at Cersei as she entered her carriage.

Sandor was silent for a moment, thinking. "What do you want?"

"They call you the Lannister Dog, would you like to run with wolves instead? Wolves will take much better care of a dog than a lion would." Herian tapped a finger against her Witchers medallion.

"I serve the King." Sandor growled out.

"The offer will always be open. Ned and I are grateful that you have been looking out for Sansa while we were otherwise engaged. The greatest threat has been removed, the engagement broken. The offer will stand because no one told you to look out for her." As far as Herian was considered that was good enough.

"The girl was going to get herself hurt, Joffery would have taken any excuse to hurt her. I helped her because not even Stark could teach her how to be safe from him. Not because I wanted to change my position."

"I know. But the fact that you gave enough of a damn to help, that is enough. It shows your character, as much as you like to hide it behind wine and growls." She continued to watch the Lannister procession. The golden banners seemed muted, as if they knew why they were being sent away. Even if the golden locked men and women did not.

Sandor didn't know what to make of it, Sansa was a nice girl, but she was just that a girl. Not even a first born son, and yet here he was being offered a job because of her. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Please do." Herian was enjoying the feel of the light grey Tribunal styled garb today. Less confining than her Witcher gear, but still offering protection, her steel blade was on her hip.

A page raced up to the two huffing for breath. "The King has called the council, Lord Stark has asked you to meet him there."

Herian sighed, she was enjoying basking in the Lannisters downfall. While she had no real reason to dislike them, other than Cersei, they were a threat. Now they were leaving, she doubted it would be the last she saw of them.

The elf turned to the boy. "Thank you. You may go."

The boy gave a nod and fled. "It never ends." she said.

"It is the Game of Thrones." Sandor said.

"What a silly thing to call politics." Herian said with a smile and set off down the wall.

Sandor was beginning to like the elf.

* * *

Ned was waiting for her outside the council room.

"Be thankful you just got here." Ned said smiling at the elf, he liked her garb, it showed off her form, with his seal stamped all over it.

Herian smiled and poked her head around the corner, Robert was sitting in Neds usual spot. Bellowing away, red in his cheeks. "It does look like one of those days." she whispered.

Neds lips twitched up. "Shall we go together?"

Herian straightened and put on her bodyguard mask. "After you my Thane."

Robert was both happy to see Ned and angry, the first words out of his mouth. "The whore is pregnant." He growled out.

Whore? Ned thought for a moment, given how many whores the King fucked that wasn't a new thing. He racked his brain for what Robert could be talking about. After a moment it clicked, the Targaryen girl, the one across the sea. The look on Roberts face spoke volumes about what he wanted

"You're speaking of murdering a child." Ned didn't want to believe what he was hearing, that his old friend would murder a child out of fear.

Robert growled out, angry at his Hand. "I warned you this would happen. Back in the North, I warned you, but you didn't care to hear. Well, hear it now. I want 'em dead, mother and child both. And that fool, Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them both dead."

"You will dishonour yourself forever if you do this." Ned said solemnly, Herian stood ridged, she did not like where this was going. What a coward, she thought. People like him would get hanged back home.

"Honour?!" Robert bellowed. "I've got Seven Kingdoms to rule! One King, Seven Kingdoms. Do you think honour keeps them in line? Do you think it's honour that's keeping the peace? It's fear! Fear and blood!"

Ned looked away for a second then sharply raising his voice slightly. "Then we're no better than the Mad King."

"Careful, Ned. Careful now."

"You want to assassinate a girl... Because the Spider heard a rumor?" Ned was not amused.

Varys looked up at the man. "No rumor, my Lord. The princess is with child."

"Based on whose information?"

"Ser Jorah Mormont. He is serving as adviser to the Targaryens." Varys leaned forward to address the Lord.

"Mormont?" Ned half smiled, this was something he could use. "You bring us the whispers of a traitor half a world away and call it fact?"

"Jorah Mormont's a slaver, not a traitor. Small difference, I know, to an honorable man." Petyr purred out.

"He broke the law, betrayed his family, fled our land. We commit murder on the word of this man?" Neds voice took its usual hard edge.

Herian tensed and released the muscles on her back, that tone was never good.

"And if he's right?" Robert bellowed. "If she has a son? A Targaryen at the head of a Dothraki army… What then?"

"The Narrow Sea still lies between us. I'll fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water." Flimsy, he knew but he would not hard someone based on only there family.

"Do nothing? That's your wise advice? Do nothing til our enemies are on our shores? You're my council? Counsel! Speak sense to this honourable fool." Robert volume rose as he spoke.

Varys was the first to speak, calmly but clearly. "I understand your misgivings, my Lord. Truly, I do. It is a terrible thing we must consider, a vile thing. Yet, we who presume to rule must sometimes do vile things for the good of the realm."

Ned took a deep breath thinking it over.

Varys finished. "Should the gods grant Daenerys a son, the realm will bleed."

Pycelle too tired to council Ned. "I bear this girl no ill will, but should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? How many towns will burn? Is it not wiser, kinder even, that she should die now so that tens of thousands might live?"

Renly chimed in. "We should have had them both killed years ago."

Petyr raised his hands in a plaintive gesture. "When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, best close your eyes, get it over with. Cut her throat. Be done with it."

Eddard couldn't believe these men, without speaking he took the three small steps to the table and said coldly. "I followed you into war - twice, without doubts." He braced both hands against the table leaning forward. "Without second thoughts. But I will not follow you now. The Robert I grew up with didn't tremble at the shadow of an unborn child." Neds voice was hard, but Herian could hear the quiver in it, oh it must be painful to say those words.

"She dies." The King said with finality."

"I will have no part in it."

"You're the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You'll do as I command or I'll find me a Hand who will."

Ned pressed his lips into a thin line, he stood straight. Plucked the badge of the Hand and tossed it on the table without a care.

"And good luck to him. I thought you were a better man."

The King rose from his chair bellow. "Out! Out, damn you! I'm done with you."

Ned turned and walked swiftly out, not quite fleeing. Herian remained behind, she was not as good as Ned, when it came to controlling her temper.

"Go! Run back to Winterfell! I'll have your head on a spike! I'll put it there myself, you fool! You think you're too good for this? Too proud and honourable? This is a war!"

Ned stopped just in the throne room to listen, he hadn't called Herian to follow and he knew she had her own issues to resolve with the king.

Herian let her eyes flick over gold and before the King to speak again. She roared.

This was a roar that matched dragons, her stance was wide arms outstretched low to her sides, fingers hooked like claws.

Roberts jaw snapped shut and he fell back into his set with a thud.

Ned smiled, her roar would echo through the Keep for sometime. Herian could put the King in his place in a way the Lord couldn't.

Herian snapped her jaw shut and whirled around storming from the room.

Her message was painfully clear.

* * *

The two all but ran back to the tower of the Hand. There they split up, Herian went straight for the children, sending a page for Ayra.

"What's happening?" Sansa asked.

"Answers later, pack now." Herian said, and turned to Jon. "When you are done with your things start on Ayras. We'll want to be out of here as soon as possible."

The elf raced back to her Lord sweeping into their room and gathering up things. Had Ned had the time to look over, he would have marvelled how her little box, seeming endless books, swords, armour, potions, bombs, all went into the box, till there was nothing left. She tucked in into her sash then turned to help her lord. Clothing finding its way into his bag at record speeds.

There was a knock on the door and Jory Cassel entered the room.

Ned glanced over his shoulder at the man. "I'll go ahead with my daughters and son. Go help them. Don't ask anyone for help."

Jory nodded sharply. "Right away, my Lord. Lord Baelish is here for you."

Ned nodded and Jory set off to help the girls, Baelish taking his place.

"His Grace went on about you at some length after you took your leave. The word "treason" was mentioned." Petyr spoke boldly.

"What can I do for you?" Ned asked turning to him.

"When do you return to Winterfell?" Petyr asked getting straight to the point.

"Why?" Ned said sharply. "What do you care?"

Petyr spoke quickly and lowly. "If you're still here come nightfall, I'll take you to see the last person Jon Arryn spoke with before falling ill. If that sort of thing still interests you."

Ned paused for a moment, Jon Arryns death was a good as solved all information passed on to the King, Ser Hughs would testify.

"No it doesn't." Ned turned away and resumed packing, only to find most of it done as Herian had never stopped moving.

Petyr masked his surprise well and shifted his attention to Herian. "Your little gesture left quite the impression, after he was finished soiling his breaches. He was calling for your head as well."

The elf snorted and picked up Neds box of papers before he could. "I'm hungry, so he is welcome to try it." She walked out Ned on her heels, he scooped up his other bags from beside the door were Herian had left them.

Petyr followed them, Ayra, Sansa and Jon were waiting in the main room. Jory picked up the girls things and the party swiftly made for the stables.

As they got their things packed on the horses. Petyr spoke again having used the time to gather his thoughts. "I will be sad to see you go. If you are lucky Robert won't send anyone after you."

Herian lifted Ayra up into a saddle despite the young girls protests, while Jory helped Sansa.

"He should know better than to try." Ned mounted up, and Herian leaped up behind Ayra. "Goodbye Lord Baelish." He set a quick trot and the rest of the horses followed suit, their Direwolves now large enough to keep up easily with the horses.

No one spoke till they were out of the city on the Kings Road and after Ned had forced the horses to run till they were exhausted. When they slowed, Herian had given the reins to Ayra and was watching the road behind them.

Sansa was the first to break the silence as the city faded away. "Father what happened?"

Ned took a breath to calm himself. "The King wanted for me to arrange the murder of a girl across the sea. I refused."

The Stark children were silent mulling this over for a long time.

Ayra pipped up. "Will Syrio come up with the rest of the household that we brought?"

Lord Stark smiled, trust in Ayra to defuse things. "I imagine so, I gave no order but from my conversations with him he doesn't seem to the time to leave a job half finished."

After the two weeks Ned relaxed very slightly, the trip north was far faster than the trip south. Talking was only done when absolutely necessary, but once they made it past the Neck everyone started to breath a little easier.

It was one night while they were all camping around the fire, after all three of the youths were asleep.

Herian approached her Lord, her steps silent in the snow. "May I go for a run my Thane?"

Ned was surprised for a minute by her phrasing. She was rarely so formal, but given the request and the situation he understood. "Go, we will be fine."

Herian nodded returned to her bed roll and stripped, before silently walking into the forests that surrounded them.

Jon spoke up after watching his mentor leave. "I'll take first watch."

Ned didn't have the heart deny the boy and was soon fast asleep.

 _He was on all fours, the white forest was blurring past him. He felt powerful and hungry. The ground was soft and cold under his claws, as he slowed to prowl through the bush. Raising his nose he scented the air, deer. Oh how delicious they smelt._

 _Slinking through the undergrowth, he prowled closer and closer and when they were only a few meters away he sprang! The buck crumpled beneath him and his jaws tore out its throat._

 _He fell on this catch gobbling up the fresh bloody meat while it was still warm. When he was finished he let out a satisfied sigh and resumed his run through the forest, this time scenting for water._

 _At his great gallop he found a small stream swiftly, and took a drink, when he raised his head his reflection made him freeze._

 _A huge golden wolf stared back at him, Ned recognized the face instantly. "Herian?!" The wolf reeled back and yelped._

 _Ned felt a force suddenly baring down on him, he tired to feel but it caught him a voice not his own spoke in his mind. "Ned?"_

Eddard woke with start lurching upright, a hand flying to his frantically beating heart.

Jon looked over to his father, while running this fingers through Ghosts fur. The boy smiled having a pretty good idea of what just happened. His own first warg had ended with him doing the very same thing. Though he wondered maybe he was wrong, after all. What could have his father warged into? Maybe he just had a nightmare.

The northman looked up into the sky, the moon was high and full, setting the snow aglow. He had only been asleep for an half hour. With a groan he laid back down, and closed his eyes. He couldn't go the rest of his days not sleeping.

Herian was torn between racing back to camp to figure out what had happened, or waiting to see if it happened again. She rose to stand on her hind legs and walked slowly up frosty stream. Her wolf was present and eager, for what she wasn't sure. But sure enough a few minutes after the strange presence was gone it returned.

 _Ned was standing taller now, taller than when he was in his own flesh. He raised a hand to look at the long elegant strong clawed fingers, short grey fur speckled with gold covered them to the long claw at the end. The claws had blood on them, it smelled sweet._

 _Ned felt that same pressure on his mind again. "Ned?"_

 _Her mental voice was different purer in a strange way,_ _a soft alto._

" _Herian." The man responded, this felt so strange and so oddly right._

 _Herian could feel every emotion flicking through her Thane. It made her more then a bit pleased, actually knowing what was going through Ned heads was quite nice. Out of curiosity, Herian drew on her joy and pushed it over Ned._

 _Neds thought process came to a screaming halt as he suddenly felt indescribably happy. The feeling didn't feel foreign, it felt like it was coming from him, yet he knew it wasn't. Ned allowed himself to bask in it, return it in kind._

 _Herian rumbled happy at the feeling, and started walking back down the stream._

 _Ned was lost back in the new sensations, the frozen dirt under his feet, the wind in his fur._

 _Herian let her hand brush over the snow dusted ferns and bushes._

 _The Stark found it odd how the touches felt, on one hand, he felt less of the texture, on the other more because of how the fur moved. It was odd being so tall, his arms felt heavy and the hung inhumanly low. The werewolves gait was long and strange, the bunching of muscles, the shape of leg. His lungs felt huge, as they grew great heaving breaths, the stretch was much greater._

" _So." Herian thought at him, trying to keep her emotions separate from his. It was harder than it should have been. "How are you doing this? Cause this is not me."_

 _The words broke Ned slightly from the feelings, set them aside. He paused and Herian felt his confusion. "I am not sure."_

 _Herian sighed and Ned felt her get mildly annoyed. "Come now, there must be something! You aren't a telepath, so that cuts that out. You family does have a magic, just cause I don't know what it is, doesn't mean it's not there. There must be some story somewhere for this."_

" _What makes you say that?" Ned asked honestly._

" _There are always stories." Herian walked out into the clearing, raised her arms high and welcomed the moon's embrace. "My aunt would say. 'Know when fairy tales cease to be fairy tales? When people start believing them. So what are your stories?"_

 _The moon call was pure pleasure to her, greater then all the fine meats, best fruits. Better than fishtec_ _or_ _skooma! It warmed her blood, caused her heart to pound her soul to sing. Moonlight was a universal, Herian didn't understand it, but by the light of Masser and Secunda. Or by the kinder glow that hug over the lands she and Harimand shared. It did not matter, the moons all had the same effect. Maybe it was something in her blood, or in its light. She closed her golden eyes to allow the light to fill her, to ease the aches the change created._

 _Ned was high, drunk on the moon, intoxicated. How the hell could he think through this feeling? He had no words for it._

 _Herian turned her attention to Ned, within her, felt how lost he was, and walked back into the shadows. Waiting till he was coherent again._

 _The sensation didn't last too long. Like most of the experience itself, Ned shook his head and began to drag himself back into at least a slimmer of coherency. The matter wasn't so easy of course. His mind was a mess of feels, sensations, and experiences the Stark hadn't ever considered before in his life. Pulling himself out of such a mess was like dragging one's self out of a muck filled swamp, that he already was waist deep in._

 _As he did so, Herian watched from the side as her Thane stumbled about. Lost in her mind, his form within her, his eyes were rather blank for the most part, dulled over with whatever he had seen. On the other side however, the Witcher crossed her arms and shifted her feet._

 _Few words could describe it. Out of all her years and experience, Herian was almost shocked at whatever was going on. She demanded to know what had happened from Ned, but it seemed he was just as clueless as they both were. Whatever was happening to the both of them, it had been sprung without either of their knowledge._

 _The elf had created the mental place for him, rather than letting him ride within her very being. It was strange holding this mental imagine for him, seeing him within her minds eye. She hadn't notice him enter her, either time. She twisted her lips and focused, call up a memory. Trying to solidify the place. All around them long green grass sprung up, it came up almost to their knees. Large thick_ _trunk-ed_ _leafy green trees encircled the clearing. Hot weather flowers were sprinkled around them, among the grass,_ _g_ _lowly softly in the light. Off to her right was a deep clear beautiful blue pool. The sound of crickets filled the air, owls hooting. A sky full of bright stars, with a great strip of red from one horizon to the other. She remembered the warm breeze that was always present, and smiled when it dusted her cheeks._ _The_ _beauty_ _of this place,_ _was only matched in fairy tales._

 _Herian focused on her friend again, it unsettled her, the power he had over her. Had she not gone to drink, either of them would have_ _realized_ _what had happened._

 _Ned stumbled toward her mental form, he was about to fall. When the elf caught him, he still slumped against her, his head to her breast. As soon as he touched her, he could feel all the sensation_ _s_ _of the flesh again. The snow landing on her nose, in her fur, the wind gusting, setting her fur dancing._

 _Herian didn't know what to do, Ned was getting lost again. She didn't know how to shield him, or kick him out of her. Waiting, was all she could do._

 _Unfortunately for her, Ned did not improve, he could feel her worry,_ _how_ _lost_ _she felt_ _. Still suck in the feelings of the wolf, her body rather than the memory she recalled. He did however get heavier, logic would say that wasn't possible, but on the other hand. She knew he was heavy, that knowledge wouldn't go away._

 _So they sank down into the ground, Neds arms came around her on impulse as his head moved to her neck. Herian was at a loss, she couldn't shut him out. She lifted him away from her, as far as her arms would allow and gave him a shake._

 _Nothing, his eyes were still blank, he clearly wasn't feeling anything she did._

" _Ned." She called out._

 _Nothing, the wind had picked up and her fur was being ruffled. Ned didn't feel anything that the mental Herian was doing, though his arms were still looped around her waist._

 _The elf pursed her lips, and sat him upward. "Lord Stark." She growled._

 _Nothing._

" _By Oblivion_ _!" She exclaimed, she needed something different, something new. Something that he would notice! Biting her lip she wracked her brain, but what?_

 _It hit it over the back of the head like a great hammer._

 _She shifted closer to him, shifting her legs under_ _herself more comfortably_ _, she took his face in her hands, running her thumbs over his sharp cheekbones._

 _Ned felt warm hands on his face, he blinked and started to feel a warm breeze rather than a cold one._

 _Herian leaned forward and very softly kissed the lords lips. This was a new thing for her, not something she had ever felt and yet. The lords lips were soft, yet rough, much larger than hers, fuller. She kept the kiss chaste, or tried to. What_ _classified_ _as a chaste kiss? She didn't know. Ploughing hell, she shouldn't have done this._

 _Ned felt his awareness snap back to himself, or his mental self. Suddenly the cold wind was gone, replaced with warm air and, and soft feminine lips against him. His arms tightened around her on reflex, when she tried to pull away he followed. Not understand_ _ing_ _, not thinking, just following._

 _The woman was lush, yet hard. One of his hands covered her lower back just above her bottom. The other found itself in her hair, pulling her back to him. Her lips had a strange spice to then, he deepened the kiss and enjoyed the surprise merp the woman made._

 _She defiantly tasted odd, Catylen had tasted like the lavender that she had been so found of. This woman had a spice that he couldn't place, it was sharp and flavourful. Like cinnamon, cloves and something sweet. His_ _lips moved_ _slowly_ _hers, as his hand_ _in_ _her hair tightened. His hind brain wasn't keen on letting go._

 _Herian's brain had long since completely turned off. Mission accomplished, Ned was not lost anymore. On the other hand she didn't have a clue what to do, she willed her arms to push him away. Her arms said no, and stayed limply at her sides. All she could feel was Ned, this really was a bad idea. How she knew he felt like, she didn't know. Did he somehow bring his own_ _knowledge of himself,_ _into this strange thing he had done? She wimped when his hand tightened in her hair, almost purred when his lips hers open coaxed hers open_ _more_ _. He commanded his tongue like an expert, he had clearly practiced this. His taste, she filed away for later contemplation._

 _When his hand fell lower to cup her bottom and gave it a testing squeeze. Another surprised, moaning whimper escaped her, her hands raising to grabbed his tunic at his shoulders._

 _Higher brain function was still far far far away from the lord. These sensations were different than normal, there was more. Everything was doubled, what he felt, what she felt in return. It was a_ _n_ _ensnaring cycle. Without thinking, Neds hand slide from her butt to her knee and he pulled her effortlessly into his lap. Then raced back to her spam her bottom and pulled_ _her hips snarly to_ _his crotch._

 _Herian let loose a pleasured cry, breaking that kiss arching upward, presenting her breasts to the Lord._

 _That was enough, Neds brain slowly came back to life, the source of his pleasure broken. Only to be replaced by a new one centred in his trousers. His arm loosened around her waist._

 _Herian had just enough of her brain to notice this, her gaze snapped down to her Lord and she leaped away from him. In her mind she hadn't bothered to cloth herself, it wasn't in her nature. She ran to the pool and dived into it, the warm water giving her a different reason to flush. The elf had large lungs, she could hide here for a minute or two. The pool was deep and beautiful, she kicked her way to the bottom, trying to ignore the ache within her that her Lord had created._

 _Ned lurched upward going after the elf, only two steps behind her. But he stopped short of driving after her, his breath was fast, heart pounding, breeches tight. What was that? With her gone, slowly he remember what was going on. How lost he had been in the sensations. That path lend him to the kiss, she just have gotten desperate, to break him free of it_ _of the outside feelings._

 _He ran a hand through his thick black hair, why had he responded? Catylen had been dead these eight months and he hadn't touched a women since. Was it just that? It had been such a long time, since he had woman to warm him._

 _The Lord shook his head, no that wasn't it. Normal kisses didn't feel like that, he could think through a normal kiss. He glanced around, only now seeing where he was. It was even warmer than Kings Landing, and infinitely more beautiful. He knelt and ran a hand through the grass, it was soft, almost as much the elf had been._

 _Ned heaved his thoughts away from that, that was a long and dangerous road. A splash caused him to glance up._

 _Herian emerged from the rich blue pool, rising slowly out of it walking in long careful steps. He watched as the water clung to her skin, golden dust motes gathered around her and formed a soft silver silk chemise. It just covered her modesty, but it stuck to her wet skin._

 _It was rather counter productive. Ned heaved his eyes away from her with a herculean effort, he cleared his throat with a cough. "Where are we?"_

 _The elf was grateful to her lord, for not talking about it. "Toussaint." She took a few careful steps through the grass to stand out of his reach._

" _It's a nice spot." The Lord was not skillful at small talk._

 _Herian smiled sweetly. "Harimand and I would come here after a bad contract, or just a bad day. It was always nice here, no matter how bad the day had been. Coming here always helped both of us heal."_

" _Why here?" Ned asked._

" _I was trying to give you a place to retreat too. Calling this place up in detail was easy, I had hoped something new would help." Herian covered her chest with an arm, hiding still perky nipples._

" _It does." Ned said, he could barely feel the cold wind. He did feel however, and watched when her eyes flicked away._

 _Her physical form sat down and leaned against a tree, before closing its eyes._

 _Then her mental form had returned its attention to him._

 _Ned didn't know how to leave so he finished for another topic, rather than standing in silence. "Who is Harimand? You mention him often."_

 _Herian sat and flopped onto her back, a hand found itself over her chest just above her breast. "Harimand is my uncle, in an odd away."_

 _Ned sat beside her and tried to keep his eyes away from her breasts._

" _Oh? How so?" This was something he would work with._

" _My Grandma adopted him, rather than birthing him. It is something like your wards. Harimand is only fourteen years my senior. He was there for my birth. I remember him playing with me at every opportunity. It is because of him I chose to be a Witcher, once I finished my training we set off into the world together. We stayed together for most of my life. So he is my uncle, but we were friends like siblings. I view him like a brother, not an uncle." Herian gazed up into the full sky._

" _What was he like?" The Stark followed her gaze and was amazed, it was a full winter sky, the likes that could only been seen in perfect dark._

 _Herian sat up and focused, trying to pull up another memory._

 _Ned watched as a fuzzy white human shape blob appeared and slowly started to take shape._

 _The man was shorter than him, though only by a few inches. Wearing only breeches and boots. His hair was white falling to his shoulders, his bangs pulled back and tied behind this head to hold the rest out of his face. The mans eyes were a shining gold, with large streaks of vibrant green. The Witchers features were sharp and thin, but he had an easy smile and lines around his lips, that showed he liked to smile. His skin was pale almost sickly, but as the imagine refined he saw how Harimand was_ _of a_ _health and muscled to a level that men could rarely obtain._

 _Harimand was lean, scars decorated his chest. Ned could recognize scars from blade and arrow, but mostly there were strange scars. Long claw marks, bites, his flesh carved up over and over again. He noticed on Harimands neck, was the same collection of scars that Herian possessed._

 _Herian kept her focus on the image, this was hard for her. "Harimand is like most witchers, cynical around others. But with me he was always kind, he loved to laugh and would smile for almost anyone. To this day, he is one of the greatest witchers we have." She twisted her lips trying to call up a different image._

 _Slowly Harimand was clothed in black armour of the School of the Wolf, almost exactly the same as Herians own gear. Blades appeared on this back, potions across his chest on a bandoleer, a strange long hook hanging on his belt, with a bomb behind it. Around his neck, the Witcher Wolf School_ _medallion._ _The Witchers face to on a_ _n_ _easy smile, one born of joy and honestly._

 _Ned found he like this Harimand, he looked like he had Herians same easy manner. "I would like to meet him someday." Lord Stark said._

 _Herian smiled and called up another image, it was slower to form and fuzzy around the edges. Like it wasn't remembered with perfect clarity._

 _The woman was slightly shorter than Herian, with hair the same colour as Harimands, but her eyes were the most amazing stunning almost glowing green that Ned had ever seen. She was slight in stature but cared the two Witcher blades on her back, the Wolf medallion around her neck._

" _This is Ciri, another adoption into the family. She is the Lady of Space and Time, she can travel any distance in the blink of an eye. Even across different worlds. She could very easily come here, Harimand can do the same level of travel. But he doesn't like teleporting and isn't as good at it as she is. But they could both every easily come here." Herian let both imagine fade away, holding them in her mind was very difficult._

" _I can't even begin to imagine what that would be like, to travel. Wherever, whenever you want." Ned wished he did, but since he was a child he had eaten Duty for breakfast and honour for dinner. It didn't allow for the same freedom that Herian and her family clearly enjoyed. There dislike for ruling, he understood it better now. To rule was to give up your freedom._

Then very suddenly Ned awoke, Jon was kneeling beside prodding his shoulder. "Your shift." The boy whispered.

Ned nodded and Jon went to bed. Ned pulled himself from the warm blankets to sit on top.

Herian felt Ned go and instantly allowed the construct she had created to fall, she turned and raced back towards the camp. Zooming back in great leaping, strides, when the fire came back into view. She slowed and returned to her normal shape, shivering she made a beeline for her bedroll and climbed in. Not once looking at Ned.


	18. Chapter 18

The Stark children knew something had gone horribly wrong at some point that night. While they chatted between themselves and their father as they broke their fast, Herian barely spoke two words.

When the saddled up and set off on the road she didn't speak at all.

The three exchanged a look, and glanced at their father in unison. What was normally a tall, imposing sight felt, wrong at a glance. The Stark often stood tall, his back straight and eyes focused on the road ahead. Now though, Ned sat hunch forward on his steed with a sour expression on his face and eyes clouded over with thoughts unknown to them. He was mute as well, glaring darkly at his horse's ears.

Jon and Ayra looked to Sansa, this was her area of expertise. Sansa gave them a smile and said. "The weather is very lovely, how about a song?" She had the perfect one in mind, she doubt she understood it very well, but the tune was catchy and the words funny.

She sang out loud and proud, and the way she sang without fault through the ruder lyrics would have made Sandor proud.

:" _From there, to here. From here! To there!_

 _All black and brown and covered in hair!_

 _He smelled that girl on the summer air!_

 _The bear! The bear!_

 _The maiden fair!_

 _Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair!_

 _I'll never dance with a hairy bear!_

 _I called a knight, but you're a bear!_

 _All black and brown and covered in hair!_

 _He lifted her high in the air!_

 _He sniffed and roared and he smelled her there!_

 _She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair!_

 _He licked the honey all up in her hair!":_

Herian couldn't help it, her chest shaking as she silently laughed. Never in the dizziest daydreams would she imagine this song from Sansa.

:" _From there to here. From here! To there!_

 _All black and brown and covered in hair!_

 _He smelled that girl on the summer air!_

 _The bear! The bear!_

 _The maiden fair!_

 _And the bear, the bear!_

 _The maiden fair!_

 _And the bear, the bear!_

 _She sighed and she squealed and she kicked the air!_

 _Then she sang: My bear! My bear so fair!_

 _And off they went into the summer air!_

 _The bear, the bear,_

 _And the maiden fair!_

 _From there to here. From here! To there!_

 _All black and brown and covered in hair!_

 _He smelled that girl on the summer air!_

 _The bear! The bear!_

 _The maiden fair!_

 _And the bear, the bear!_

 _The maiden fair!_

 _And the bear, the bear!_

 _The maiden fair!_

 _And the bear, the bear!":_

Ned chuckled and smiled warmly at his daughter. The song helped with his posture and brought a bit of light back to the lord's dour expression, "Well done? Where did you learn that?"

"In the gardens, Joffery called a bard to entertain us once." That had been one of her better meetings with the boy.

Ayra pouted and looked up at Herian. "Do you sing? We've heard you play and but not sing."

The elf shifted slightly in her seat. "I sing."

Sansa beemed. "Sing us a song! Do you know love songs? About Knights and maidens?"

"No! Sing us a song about battles! I'll go sit with father, then you can play too!" Ayra bounced in her place.

Herian couldn't think of a reason to say no, the ride was very boring in silence. "Alright." With her heel she nudged her steed to ride beside Ned, scooped Ayra up by the arm pits and past her to the Lord.

When she was back to her place, she pulled out her box, and retrieved her lute from its depths.

"How about this pups. One song for Sansa and other for Ayra? Sound good?" She asked the two young ladies.

"Yes." The said together with unified nods of there heads.

Herian set the lute in her lap, tested the strings and started to play. Her fingers dancing in a beautiful soft tune, raising her head high she sang, softly, smoothly.

 _:_ _These scars long have yearned for your tender caress.  
To bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own.  
Rend my heart open, then your love profess,  
A winding, weaving fate to which we both atone._

 _You flee my dream come the morning.  
Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet,  
To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy,  
Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep._

 _The wolf I will follow into the storm.  
To find your heart, it_ _'_ _s passion displaced.  
By ire ever growing, hardening into stone.  
Amidst the cold to __hold you_ _in a heated embrace._

 _You flee my dream come the morning.  
Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet_ _._ _  
To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy,  
Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep._

 _I know not if fate would have us live as one.  
Or if by love's blind chance we've been bound,  
The wish I whispered, when it all began.  
Did it forge a love you might never have found?_

 _You flee my dream come the morning_ _,_ _  
Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet_ _._ _  
To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy_ _,_ _  
Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep.:_

Ned said not a word, not a gasp or murmur. Atop his horse, the Stark felt entranced from the first word to the last. He could even feel the emotions in the song from each syllable. As rude as it might have sounded, the elf sang beautifully and was much better than Sansa.

Sansa was quiet for a moment, then asked. "Will you teach me that one?"

"I don't see why not." Herian said.

"There are no names, who is it about?" Ayra asked.

"An uncle of mine and his lover or yor." Herian said then shook her head. "Right one for you now Ayra."

The tune was equally simple, but her voice changed with the speaker in the tale. For Vanyel it was high and sweet, for Lord Nedran it was hard and stoney

: _Road in Hardorn, the place called Stony Tor  
A fearful band of farmers flees Elsweyr Border war.  
A frightened band of farmers, their children, and their wives,  
Seek refuge from a tyrant, who wants more than just their lives._

 _Now up rides Ranger Vanyel. "Why then such haste?" says he.  
"Now who is it pursuing, whose anger do you flee?  
You are all of Eslweyr, why seek you Cyrodiil?  
Is Festil no protection? Nor bide all his men too far?"_

 _"Oh, Vanyel, Ranger Vanyel, we flee now for our lives,  
Lord Nedran would enslave us, our children and our wives-  
He'd give our souls to demons, our bodies, to his men.  
Mane Festil has not heeded, or he happens not to ken."_

 _Now up speaks Ranger Vanyel. "The Border is not far-  
But you are all of Elsweyr, and not of Cyrodi_ _i_ _l,  
You are not Sul-Matuul's people-can call not on his throne-  
But __damned_ _if I will see you left so helpless on your own!"_

 _So forth goes Ranger Vanyel, and onward does he ride,  
On Stony Tor he waits then, Yfandes at his side.  
With Nedran's men approaching, he calls out from on high,  
"You shall not pass, Lord Nedran! Nay I shall not let you by!"_

 _Now only Ranger Vanyel stands blocking Nedran's way  
"Now who are you, fool nothing, that dares to tell me nay?"  
Now up speaks Vanyel his voice like brittle glass;  
"The __Ranger_ _called Vanyel-and 'tis I you shall not pass!"_

 _Now there stand great Lord Nedran, behind him forty men,  
With wizard there beside him he pales, and speaks again-  
"So you are Ranger Vanyel-this place is not your land.  
So heed me, Ranger Vanyel; and now turn aside your hand."_

 _"Let be; I'll give you silver, and I shall give you gold,  
And I shall give you jewels fair that sparkle bright and bold,  
And I shall give you pearls, all the treasures of the sea,  
If you will step aside here, leaving these poor fools to me."_

 _"What need have I of silver with sweet Yfandes here?  
And all the gold I cherish is sunlight bright and clear.  
The only jewel I treasure's a bright and shining star,  
And I protect the all helpless not just those of Cyrodiil."_

 _"Now I shall give you beauty, women slaves and men,  
And I shall give you power, you'll never see again,  
And I shall give you mansions and I shall give you land,  
If you will turn aside this day, aside and hold your hand."_

 _"Now beauty held in bondage is beauty that is lost.  
And land and mansions blood-bought come too high the cost.  
The power I have already-all power is a jade-  
So turn you back, Lord Nedran if of me you are afraid!"_

 _Lord Nedran backs his stallion, the wizard he comes nigh,  
"Prepare yourself, bold Vanyel, for you shall surely die!"  
The wizard calls his daedra, the daedra he commands,  
And Vanyel, Ranger Vanyel, only raises empty hands._

 _The wizard calls his demons, the sky above turns black.  
The daedra strike at Vanyel, he stands and holds them back.  
The daedra strike at Vanyel, they strike and hurt him sore,  
But Vanyel stands defiant, only to raise his hands once more._

 _The sky itself descending now, upon bare Stony Tor  
It hides the awful battle. The watchers see no more.  
The wizard shouts in triumph-too soon he vents his mirth.  
For Vanyel calls the lightning down, and smites him to the earth!_

 _The clouds of black have lifted; and there on barren ground  
Stands Vanyel hurt, yet victor, the daedra tied and bound.  
He looks down on Lord Nedran; his eyes grow cold and bleak-  
"Now I shall give you, Nedran, all the power that you seek-"_

 _Now Vanyel frees the daedra, and Nedran screams with fear,  
He sets them on the Karsites, who first had brought them here.  
He sets them on the Karsites, and on the Karsite land.  
They look down on Lord Nedran. And they do not stay their hand._

 _Now Vanyel calls the farmers. "Go tell you near and far,  
How thus are serves the tyrants who would take Tamriel.  
I am the bane of daedra, their query I defend.  
Thus Rangers serve a foeman and thus Rangers save a friend!"_

"Wow!" Ayra exclaimed. "How did he call down lightning?"

Herian shrugged. "Magic really isn't my area, I know most dragonborn can if they know the right words. Vanyel, I don't know. I never met him." Her fingers continued to dance in lazy tunes, it gave them something to do.

"Do you know many songs?" Sansa asked.

"Many, many, many songs. In different tongues, from different places. Something with instrumental music, others without. I have songs of old battles so long ago, they are all but forgotten. Songs for courtship, songs to tell stories, teach lessons, or laments for the dead." Herian collected songs, sent them on to her Grandmother for archiving.

"Why don't you sing more than? You have a beautiful voice." Sansa said, wishing that Herian would share her songs.

The elf stopped play and said softly. "I haven't sang since my mother died. It's been a bit of a step just to start playing again." She felt that familiar stabbing pain in her chest, that always followed thoughts of her mother. Her temples started to hurt, she blinked rapidly and forced her fingers to move again. Picking a rather sparse tune, to was soft but Sansa knew a lament when she heard one.

"Well, maybe singing will help." You grieve, went unsaid. "What are you playing now? Sansa asked.

"The Battle of Molag Beran." Herian said tightly.

"Will you sing it?" Sansa didn't like the tune, it spoke of great pain, she had a feeling the words would too.

It had been her mothers favourite, she didn't know why she played it. It was a favourite among all Dunmer, for they did not like to forget. The elf wanted to stop, but she let her fingers return to the start of the song. She took a few deep breaths, and started to sing. Not loudly, or proudly, she left her grief pour through the words. It was very fitting for the song.

: _"Did you come to hide from war,_

 _Or come to herd the guar,_

 _Or were you with the House Guard_

 _At the Battle of Molag Beran?_

 _For I was there, and fought and cried,_

 _And tasted blood and thunder._

 _I stood in line with mace and shield_

 _As Dunmer clan slew Dunmer._

 _The guard of House Retheran_

 _Were bright arrayed for battle._

 _They came in pride, in columns wide,_

 _But ran like frightened cattle._

 _We stood our ground on Tadras Banks,_

 _Then turned their flanks and roweled them._

 _The field was bright with cousin's blood_

 _Spilled by doughty Drenim._

 _We lost some gallant gentlemen_

 _From ranks of brave House Drenim._

 _And many a wand'ring widow weeps_

 _On the hills of Molag Beran._

 _Some fell for wrong, some fell for right,_

 _All for the colous wearin',_

 _And many bade the world good-night_

 _At the Battle of Molag Beran.:_

Herian fell silent and packed her lute away, then pulled up her hood to find her features. She let a few tears slide down her cheeks and she hunched herself over. To stare unseeing at the ground.

Sansa and Jon quickly started to debate about the weather, Ayra chrippering in on Jons side.

Ned was silent. There were no words, no comments, or even a mutter from the Lord of the North. Whilst his children spoke among themselves, the Stark said not a word as they continued down the path. His jaw felt firmly locked in place, his lips as sealed as a boat's hull. As his steed continued onward however, the expression upon the man's face did not fit well with his cold silence. Normally, one would imagine the lord being utterly calm, unphased by the tone of the song, it's words and how the elf had sung it. To one such as him, it would have mattered little.

That however, was not the case.

A set of eyes, normally focused on the path in front of them, were all but where one would suspect. Instead of merely looking forward along a dirt road, Ned turned his head and sent a gaze directly at the source of the wondrous music. The Stark sent the elf a look, his eyes as still and focused as they always had been. But to betray the coldness that he was known for, Ned's eyes held a bit of emotion that was rarely seen on him in these past few weeks. He looked on with concern, and perhaps a bit of worry as well.

While he did not speak it, the Stark had heard every word the elf had sung. It was, as before, a beautiful song, one he had never quite heard of before. There had been many musicians in the past, but none had quite a singing voice as Herian did. The song however, was not what caught the man's attention though. That was the expression the elf made once she had finished. The sour turn in her mood, how she hid her face, and the way she now sat upon her steed?

It was unlike her, unfitting in a way, and Ned cared very little for it.

Eventually the children feel silent, their little questions directed at the elf went unanswered. Snow started to fall again, lightly but enough for them to shiver and pull more cloaks from there bags.

Herian didn't notice the cold, as it was they weren't wet yet, and that was when things got unpleasant. She was playing her mothers death in her head, over and over. The release of the disease, the panicked fighting, watching her comrades die all around her. Her mother, the woman that never earned Nerevar's favour. The moment her fingers clutched the Moon-and-Star amulet.

Nerevar's instant booming arrival, the rage twisting her godly form. How fast they all died, the Thamlor, Sload, everyone, just her and Nerevar in the end. But that Nerevar was not her Grandmother, that was the Nerevarine, last living God, she who had fallen out of touch with what it meant to be mortal.

She remembered crawling over to her mother, her mothers Telvanni grab shredded, blood seeping from her lips and eyes.

How cold she had felt when Herian grabbed her and pulled her to her chest, wailing.

Tears froze on Herian's cheeks.

She remembered when the Nerevarine became Nerevar again, when her Grandmother pulled her away from her mother. Beyond that the details drew fuzzy, she remember fighting Nerevar, trying to get back to her mother. When the Goddess waved her hand and the poisoned air disappeared.

They pitched camp by the road, no inn in sight. Herian found herself wandering away once all were settled. She didn't bother running, though the moon was still full. Even her wolf was mute, she didn't feel it when her toes went nub or her fingers. Didn't notice when the cold turned her cheeks red.

At the camp, the others swiftly set up what would be small camp for themselves. Just a few meters from the road, the Starks grabbed what they could and made their little stop as comfortable as possible. Jon crafted a small fire pit near the center of their encampment while his sisters gathered wood from whatever was nearby. Off near a set of trees, Ned tied the horses up for the night. It wouldn't have been pleasant for anyone if the steeds scampered off during the night whilst everyone was asleep.

The ordeal took little time at all. After a moment, Ned finished up tying up the last of the steeds. It would take a knife and quite a bit of effort for the horses to break from where he had left them. With that done, the Stark turned around and began to make his way back to camp. Along the way though, he spotted a rather peculiar sight.

Unbeknownst to the elf, a pair of steely, cold eyes watched as she slinked away from the camp. Ned said not a word, only observing the woman as she walked away. From what he saw, the woman seemed engulfed in her own thoughts and concerns. Not to the point where she would be unknowingly walking face first into a tree-

Ned chuckled. Though that would have been funny.

-but Herian looked to be quite out of it. Merely observing her as she walked sent a shiver up Ned's spine. At first, he shook his head. It likely was the cold. The farther up the path he and his companions made, the chillier the air would get. Soon enough there would be snow and ice forming across their tongues if given the chance.

"Far too many memories with that attached to that song." he grumbled.

Though as he thought this, Ned blinked. Was it just him, or did the Stark just see the elf shiver? It had been quick, almost too quick. Herian had come to a stop a decent distance away from the camp and had even regained some of her senses. Then though, why would she shiver?

"Cold, yes." he muttered, "But it isn't too bad."

Being one of those who chose to live high in the North, the Starks were often immune to the weather. They felt it of course, the icy winds could still peel the skin off a man without them ever noticing. They're heavy coats were a testament to how bad the weather could be and just how those who sought to live there must be prepared at all times.

Surely she couldn't have been so busy with her own feelings that she had forgotten how cold it out was? If Ned could recall, her cloak did a fine job about protecting her from whatever hell the weather saw fit to throw at her. But, even it had it's limits. And from what he had seen, the Witcher's own tolerance for the cold seemed rather obvious now that he had seen it.

Once more, the Stark sighed, "Naturally."

Herian hugged herself and started off again, how many years? How many years of taking out her mothers death any Thamlor that appeared. She remembered the Isle, another 'house cleaning' mission. How hot it had been there.

The snow crunched under her boots as she wandered away, there wasn't anything in these woods. No one would come after the Starks here, not with a storm working its way up.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, she didn't bother trying to be quiet. She past through the forest like a wraith, the farther from the camp, the quieter she got.

She stopped by a thick oak tree, snow dusting its bark. The elf rested a hand against the familiar wood. The Witcher bit her lip till it bled, she shouldn't have sang. Of course that song would come to mind, all Dunmer knew it, all dunmer loved it. Of all the ballads she knew, she knew that one best.

The elf slumped against the tree and slide to the ground. Her mother used to sing to her, only dunmer tales, in Daedric or dunmeri, but most often Daedric. She was an Ashlander, that had chosen Telvanni when Nerevar had resurrected the fallen House. It used to be Herian would play and her mother would sing. She tried to recall how her mother sounded, slowly, sluggishly the memory. It came back to the surface, older memories, they were harder to recall.

Her mother had been average for a Dark Elf, but when she sang. Herian forgot to dislike her, when she sang, she was her mother again. Not the kind dunmer that earned them the slang term, Dark Elf, clannish and moody. Her kind had lost much of their glory after the fall of the Tribunal. Her mother was the kind of elf, who wished for a return to their glory of old.

Despite this, her mothers high kind sweeping voice filled her mind.

The tears made her cheeks burn, it hurt, but she healed, only to break again. Herian grabbed her cloak and wrapped it tightly around herself, as she drew her knees up to her face, curling into a ball.

Rage, rage and bitterness, that is what kept her going in Tamriel. To bring her mothers murders to justice, but what justice was in war? She should have looked again for Harimand, he would have know what to do. Instead, she went on a war-path, true to the reputations of both Witcher and Werewolf.

Herian bit into her wrist, and let a quiet wail slip between her lips. That stupid song. She wanted to go home, back to Harimand, back to Ciri, back to Kaer Morhen. There, there was always something to do, be it fix a wall, or getting roaring drunk with the other Witchers. Prank Lambert the prick, for no other reason, than he was a prick.

She tried to be better here, tried to make friends. It helped her forget what she had been, turn a new leaf, that damned song! It had all be going so well, now Ned could get in her head and she had no idea how to stop him. The Witcher didn't want the Lord of the North in her head, she didn't want him to see what she had been. Those years of her life, she would rather forget.

She shivered remembering how he had held her, kissed her. He couldn't care for her, she would be as she was now for two centuries at least, maybe longer if she was lucky. Ned would be gone, in half a century, if he was very very lucky. She tried to dissuade him that morning, and for the rest of the day. He was too nice, to honourable, he would remarry. The other Lords wouldn't let him not, all would be itching to marry off a young pretty daughter to the Warden of the North.

No, it was a one time thing, she couldn't let it happen. She'd find some way to keep him out, maybe only go hunting in the days. Herian closed her eyes, and let her breathing slow, she didn't want to go back. She wanted to be alone, alone with her memories, alone with her guilt. Away from the confusing Eddard, who couldn't be allowed to feel anything for her.

Eddard gave Jon a nod then set off after the elf, her footsteps plain in the snow. She hadn't gone far, just out of range of the camp. He was surprised to see her sitting against a great oak, curled up in a ball.

He tried to walk softly but he lacked the elfs skill, and Jons knowledge.

Herian heard the crunch of snow as her Thane approached but she ignored him. Maybe he would go away, though that seemed like wishful thinking.

Ned kneeled beside her, reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, wrapping his cloak around her. "Are you alright?"

"I don't want to talk about it." The elf mumbled into her knees.

It was rather like talking to Ayra on bad day, or Lyanna.

"You haven't spoken to me since last night." The cold had seeped into the elf, he could feel it through his gloves.

Herian remained silent for a moment thinking then said. "You should go back to your children."

"No one will bother us here." Ned said, he didn't like word games, the had hoped to leave them behind at Kings Landing.

Herian shifted slightly curling up tighter.

"I am sorry, about the other night. I didn't mean to invade you like that." He sat beside her and pulled his cloak around her shoulders, pulling her against him.

Herian stiffened, and chewed on her frost chapped lip. "I will look into it when we get back to Winterfell, you have a good library."

Ned smiled. "We do, a bit charred around the edges, but with luck Robb will have had that fixed by now." The elf was defiantly too cold. Winter was coming, down south it was harder to tell, but once you got beyond the Neck…

Ned frowned, Herian was usually very chatty at least with him. Now it was like trying to draw sap from an iron wood tree. "Did that song, mean much to you?"

He wasn't going to go away was he? Herian tried not to lean into him, he was warm and large enough to shield her from the wind. "It was mothers' favorite." she muttered.

Eddard tried to remember what Herian had mentioned about her mother, there wasn't much. It was one person that Herian did not enjoy talking about. "She was, she is gone. The song remind you of her."

"All Dunmer, know it, all love it. Playing it was second nature, I couldn't think of a good reason to tell Sansa no." Her boots were interesting, she decided.

"She would have understood, next time just say no." Eddard hopped there wouldn't be a next time.

The elf went silent again, it was cold but she didn't want to move. She wanted to sleep and not wake up, she wanted Harimand to come, give her a hug and tell her it would all be okay. She sniffed loudly, Dunmer were born of fire, not of ice. She was no hot blooded Nord, that could run around in the middle of winter with no cloths*.

With a frown engraved upon his face, Ned retracted his arm.

From inside his chest, a low sigh escaped. The Stark leaned back and rested his fist against the bottom of his chin. Against the cold of the night, many feelings made their way into the man's head. Frustration. Was this how he acted when too engrossed in his own thoughts? Someone who barely even batted an eye at you when told something they were uncomfortable with? It was rather irritating.

Of course, that was not the only emotion stirred. As he looked on, Ned felt concern bubble up within his chest. What was so wrong? Had last night really affected her so strongly? It was odd, stupidly odd. The Stark wanted to grab his head and shake it until his skull popped open. Maybe someone deep in the fleshy recesses of his brain was some clue to what had gone on. The books and scrolls back at the castle were still so far off, and even they weren't a certainty. What could some rotten pieces of paper tell the man what his own feelings and sensations could not?

His feelings, everything he had felt but a day or so ago…

Slowly, Ned raised his head and brushed a hand throughout his scalp. It was a blur for the most part. Ned wracked his head as hard as he could to understand what had happened those few hours ago but nothing seemed to click. It was almost as if it was beyond his comprehension. How frustrating it had been to not even understand what had gone on inside his own mind. Such an irritation it was that the Stark had pushed it off to the side of his mind, like a footnote to what happened. It couldn't annoy him to King's Landing and back if he merely forgot about it. Such a simple answer, why hadn't he thought of it before.

Ned muttered though another sigh, "Oh, but if it was so easy…"

Putting it off? Forgetting about it? Oh it had been an easy affair. It had allowed Ned to go through the day without much of a thought. He had talked to his children and made it into the day without one cause for concern. Though, that was simply for the Stark. As he gazed at his companion, the man stopped and thought. What had it meant for her? How odd was it for the elf? She had kissed him for some reason.

A kiss that...had become the starting point of her foul mood.

Sparing her another glance, Ned took note of how chilled the air was. The further north they drew, the colder the nights had grew. What didn't help matters was the elf's small stature. Her cloak did its best to protect its owner from the cold air, but it was obviously not as fit for cold weather as the Stark's own. Herian shivered, shook, and kept her face pressed against the front of her knees. Though, was that for the cold, or just so she wouldn't have to look at him?

Ned wasn't sure, nor did he really care.

"You're cold." he spoke, finally breaking their silence.

A sarcastic retort was on the tip of her tongue but she held back. "It's cold, becoming cold in the cold, is what tends to happen when it's cold." Okay, so the sarcasm wasn't completely quelled. She glanced, at the Stark out the corner of her eye.

"Why are you here Lord Stark? You've invaded my mind once already, looking for another peek?" The words were almost snarled, damn the man to oblivion. It had all be fucking him, and now he didn't remember? The cold was making her cranky, and she was tried. Sleep hadn't come easily the last night, she spent most of time trying to forget that kiss gone wrong.

Ned was taken back by the sudden hostility, that was most unlike her. Usually when she had a problem she just talked, or took it out on the training field then talked. She had never snarled at him before. "I didn't mean too." he said softly.

Herian sighed. "I know. Do you remember any of it? Or was it just some strange dream to you?"  
Ned thought back on it, he remembered the clearing, moving into the moonlight, but after that it blurred together till that kiss. "Nothing between the moonlight and the kiss."

"Figures." The elf grumbled and shivered again, missing his cloak against her will.

"What happened?" The Lord asked.

"You were moon sick, I only kissed you because I thought it might shake you back to yourself." Herian finally turned to face him. "And then you, grrr" Herian leaped to her feet and stalked away from the Lord.

Eddard lurched to his feet after her. He remembered after, remembered how he had paused and how she fled.

She rounded on him. "I don't even have word for what you did!" Her hands balled into fists. "I don't even know why you did it! I still don't know what I could have done to get you to stop!"

Why had he done it? He wanted to blame the moon sickness, but then he remember how warm she felt, how exotic she had tasted, the little sounds she had made. He thought back on it, the elf had been his constant companion for so long now, and she was beautiful. Once she stopped hiding, she had an easy smile and had only ever tried to keep him and his kin safe.

Maybe it hadn't all been the moonlight, he looked at her now. She didn't even look truly angry, more scared than anything. What had she said over and over, she didn't have words, she didn't know. Ned felt his lips twitch into a very slight smile, she was afraid. Lashing out because she didn't know what else to do.

"You were just trying to get me to focus?" Ned asked, taking a careful step towards the elf.

"I tried shaking you and shouting!"

Ned grabbed her arm and pulled her to him in an instant, sweeping his cloak around her. He heard when her breath caught, felt her tense.

"You wouldn't kiss me just because of that. You could have waited till I awoke, hit me. Instead you kissed me." Even in the low light he could see her blush.

"Will you just leave it alone? You're going to have every Lady in the north scrambling to get into your bed now. And we are not even the sames species." She decided to look at the collar of his coat.

"I have five heirs, I don't need to remarry, politics be damned." She was right though, but he had married once for politics, he had no intention of doing it again. Herian had been a constant, lovely, fierce, loyal companion. While he liked to think he knew her reasonably well. It wasn't love, more along the lines of fondness. Maybe it could grow to be more, but not yet, though the memory of the kiss made his lips tingle. "And I don't care that we are different race."

"I am sorry for my trespass, but I am not sorry for that kiss." Eddard said with finality.

Herian squirmed in his arms, but he didn't get her wriggle away. "You still should leave me be, we are too different."

"That may be," Ned noted with a brow raised, "But from all of what I have seen and witnessed, the matter of things being rather too different isn't as much trouble as one would think."

To claim they were different could be akin to slapping someone in the face, it was so obvious. All one would have to do is take a look at the pair to see how different they were. One was a tall northern lord, cloaked in heavy leather with a weapon at his side that was so long that two or more normal lads would be required to lift it. The other was small, sleek with her size and cloak. She was nearly always hidden to all who even considered taking a peek at her face. Hell, Ned could likely count on one hand how many people outside his family that knew of what she looked like beyond that hood. Not counting that one engagement in the yard. Comparing the two of them was like comparing a broadsword and a sharpened dagger.

Yet from the last few weeks, Eddard couldn't find the words to say that they were too different. The matter of someone or something being so vastly different from each other that they couldn't possibly work in tandem? Nonsense, utter nonsense. Like earlier, what was wrong with someone using a broadsword and dagger together? As different as they were, could they not work together?

Ned saw the same kind of comparison when he looked at the elf and himself, and hadn't the last few weeks shown that they could be quite efficient when they put their mind to it?

Whatever the case was, Ned shook his head and leveled a flat stare at the elf.

Herian glared at him. "You are still a Lord, I will still outlive you, and someday I want to go home. I miss my family," she bit her lip again. "Were you not quite so… admiral I would have left long ago. Or I would have put a bit less effort into keeping you alive, had I not gone hunting. Cersei would have probably had your head by now. You could have done some foolishly honorable thing and told her before Robert or something equally stupid. But against my better judgment, I do actually like you. You children are very nice and Jon is well suited to the Path." Her words were sharp, she hoped that they would get him to leave her alone. Though she had unwittingly thrown a compliment in there was well.

Her words, while like daggers, did little against the Stark's rough skin. Years of dealing with the likes of Robert and the men he had allowed into his employ had left the man with while the hide. While not infallible, it certainly could withstand a few pokes and probes such as this.

"Well for such starters, I'd imagine that I'd be able to keep my head where it is at, thank you very much." he began, "But for the rest of that, I am quite thankful. Jon has taken a liking to you as well. The God's know that his time before your arrival was not the most pleasant."

Ned could still recall some of the more troublesome nights. It had never gotten too bad, the Stark would never allow it. Nevertheless though, there were days where the young lad would spend most of his days in the field with a sword in hand. The words spoken to him often burrowed much, much deeper than they would against his father. Still, since Herian had arrived, Jon had made a steady improvement in his mood. It was a relief to the lad's father. If things were to go on as they had been, then the lad would have ended up at the wall sooner or later, much to his discomfort.

"Though he is not the only one who has benefited by your presence here." Ned mused, "I would have gone mad long ago if I still foolishly took Robert's offer as I did now and you weren't there to keep me sane."

The thought of being the King's hand without someone around to assist him made Ned shiver. How could anyone else do such a job without at least some help? Jory was all well and good, but he couldn't hold a candle to what Herian was capable of. Robert was certainly not going to, and the rest of the Lannisters were about as useful as a broken dagger. Though, that was rude. A broken dagger could still be used effectively. The same could not be said for the majority of that family.

Herian smirked at that, that was true she couldn't argue there. "You won't need me at Winterfell though, it's safer there." She buried the falsehood of that, even safe in Winterfell someone had managed to steal Lady Stark away. Though Ned was no Catylen.

It was a hidden sentiment that Ned had noticed as well, "Perhaps, but if I know anything about these lands, it is that nowhere is as safe as you might expect it to be."

The tallest of walls, the highest of keeps, and the mightiest of castles. Each could protect you from one thing for certain. Any army could not breach a wall that was thick enough, an arrow could not reach the highest of towers, and a castle, with enough men defending it, would not fall regardless of who was inside. But for all each protected the other from, they left themselves open for yet another. As much as a person could hope for, there was no such thing as the perfect protection. There wasn't enough gold in the world to make such a thing, regardless of how hard someone tried.

Shaking his head, Ned once again turned his gaze to the elf.

"And besides, after these past few weeks, it simply wouldn't the be the same without you. I'm sure Jon would slip in whatever studies you have him nose first in books for, and the guards at Winterfell would surely become lax if they knew you were not around."

At that the elf giggled, scaring the shit out of his guard had been fun. A bit of a bad habit, but it was a small price to pay, if it meant that they didn't find all their bedding strung out over the rampants. Or their wine turned to water, or their clothes rubbed in itching ivey sap. Truly a small price to pay given the mischief she could get into. Her heart clenched this line of thought made her think of her not by blood brother.

"I suppose." She yielded.

Ned smiled. Not a large one, but a small little smirk found its way onto the Stark's face.

Inside his head, Ned let loose a small sigh of relief. For a moment there, he had been worried about how difficult it would be to convince the elf otherwise. Herian could be quite the stubborn one, especially when her own mood. It was a rare sight for sure, but if the Stark knew anything, than the quicker such a mood was dealt with, then the easier it would be to get her to agree on something.

"You suppose?" he mused with a shrug, "Well, that is better than nothing."

Finally pulled her gaze up to meet his, "his eyes are warmer than usual." She thought, though her clothes were feeling very thin despite the layers between them. His scent filling her nose, "How will I ever stay angry at him?" she wondered. Maybe she could stay a while longer, a long life was the elvish curse, but something could off her at any time. Maybe just maybe it would be worth pretending that fact didn't exist, just for a little while.

She felt her cheeks flush as her mind unwitting wandered back to that kiss. Harimand never mentioned kissing being like that, she resolved to send him a letter and ask for more details. Thinking on that and knowing Harimand, it made her blush ever more enthusiastically. He was almost as bad as Grandmother when it came to filthy stories.

Taking note of her rosy cheeks, Ned glanced down at the elf and hugged her slightly, "Well, I'm sure that you're getting quite sick of this cold. Do you feel up for returning to the camp then? I'm sure Jon and the others have surely gotten a fire going by now. If they hadn't, I'm sure I'd be hearing some bickering by now otherwise."

With a good look at the elf, Ned noticed that at the very least, she wasn't shivering anymore. Like someone who had gotten a tad used to the weather, the elf looked rather content where she stood. Being pressed against his chest might have helped, though her rosy skin did seem a tad out of place compared to her current complexion. Though being as close as they were, Ned didn't have trouble noticing just how thin her normal attire was. It was rather amazing that Herian hadn't froze to death already. They might not have been that close to the North at their current pace, but it was still rather chilly out.

Though to think, a mere wind taking someone like her down? The more Ned thought of it, the more it sounded like a rather pathetic insult to be truthful.

Certainly, it wouldn't be something he'd say to her face anytime soon.

Herian sighed, he was very warm. Which did not help with keeping her mind clean, nope the mere thought of what Harimand would do to her if she wrote him and wiped away that possibility. This time when she pulled away Ned let her go, she wrapped her cloak tight around her trying to retain the borrowed heat.

"I think it's safe to say there wolves have already told them the whole story."

The thought made Ned chuckle and they quickly made their way back, sure enough the three did the very best to look disinterested. The Stark children could not play the fool, to save their lives.

Ned volunteered to take first watch, while the other hid under their furs for the night.

Herian against her better judgment, took a piece of parchment out with a piece of writing coal and quickly scribbled her questions to her brother. Asking him would be a world easier than asking Ned. Though Harimand was his mothers son, as soon as she sent her letter she shivered. That had been such a bad idea.


	19. Chapter 19

Arc Two

Home

The Starks pushed through the last leg of the journey, eager to be home and when Winterfell came into view. Lord Stark kicked his horse into a run, his children shouting in glee.

Herian wasted no time giving Arya the reins and just holding on tight. Though with someone else driving, horses were beginning to become a bit less frightening.

Robb, Bran, Rickon and Rodrick where at the stables waiting for them, the first three throwing themselves into their fathers waiting arms.

Rodrick clasped arms with his Lord, as further greetings were exchanged. After which Eddard scooped Rickon up, much the three year olds delight.

Ayra leaped down from their horse to hug her brothers, Sansa and Jon, following quickly behind.

Herian dismounted more slowly and handed her steed off to a stable boy. Said boy stared at her, even after he had the horse. She watched the Starks, and sighed softly. While happy to see the Starks together again, it only made her miss her family more.

She wasn't quite sure what to do with herself till Rodrick approach grabbed one of her arms and pulled her into a bone crunching hug.

"Thank you for looking out for my Lord. Word of your deeds and skill has reached even here."

Herian awkwardly hugged the man back. "It's nothing."

"Nonsense!" The large man said with a smile. "I've had a room prepared for you across from my Lords, and clothes set aside for you." Taking note of her frost bit cheeks. "And I think I shall have the bathing room cleared out, you all could do with a nice long soak, get the ice out of your bones."

"A wonderful idea Rodrick." Ned said, Rickon still in his arms. "The warmth will do us all good."

And so Herian found herself being led deep into the depths of Winterfell, Brandon the builder had made a created a large bathhouse, half of it was cavern stone, the other half Winterfells trade mark stone. The Lords and Ladys of Winterfell didn't often use it, it was more for the household. Through said household was quite ready to give it up for a few house for their Lord and his children.

All the men save Rickon, slung towels around their waists, while Sansa and Arya fixed there over their breasts.

Herian however was seduced by the hotspring and out of her clothes faster than all of the Starks put together and swimming under the surface.

The rooms light was low, only lite by candles and three great fire pits, one on each wall save the entrance. So the Starks couldn't see the elf as she enjoyed the water.

She however could see them.

Ayra called out. "Where'd you go?" as she walking deeper into the huge hot spring.

Herian was doing her best impression of a slaughter fish, she circled her prey and when the prey started to take another step she lunged.

The elf burst free of the water, Ayra squealing in her arms. "Put me down!" The black haired girl cried.

"NEVER!" Herian allowed herself to fall backward hitting the water with a great woosh.

Ayra screeched at the sudden submergence, but Herian let her go. She scrambled away rounding on the elf who had resurfaced with just her head above water, as it came up to just under her nose. A predatory gleam in her eyes.

Robb laughed at the pair. "Heat already going to your head, Herian?" he asked climbing into the water to support his sister.

Herian shifted and kicked off floating on her back, and purring loudly. "This is lovely." She spun turning over then disappeared under the inky black surface again.

Robb, Bran and Arya quickly set out searching for the elf, walking carefully forward hands outstretched under the water.

Ned watched from the edge of the hotspring, lounging against the side, with Rickon on his lap. Sansa and Jon quickly joined in to help their siblings.

Sansa was Herian second victim, she had just made it halfway to the far side of the huge pool, for it was over twenty meters long and just less than half that wide.

Her scream alerted her brothers and sisters who came rushing to her rescue. Sansa sputtered and coughed, for Herian had only swept her feet out from under her.

"Where'd she go?" Ayra, Bran at her side, scanning around the pool.

Ned saw Herian surface for air, wink at him before slipping under again. "Try the other half." Ned called out, Herian was clearly moving much faster than them, a regular fish. He saw no harm in giving them hints.

Next came Robb, followed by Bran, Ayra and Sansa again. Jon had taken to walking around in his fighting stance, making him much harder to dunk.

Herian prowled around Jon waiting for the moment to strike, then the boy made the mistake that would be his undoing. He walked into the deeper water and stopped moving.

Herian lunged leaping out of the water like a salmon going upstream, tackled the boy flat across the chest and brought him completely under the water, before kicking away and letting him come back up.

Jon rose coughing and sputtering.

"Ha! About time she got you!" Ayra said running past him in the direction Herian had down.

"Red!" Rickon said in his little voice and pointed just to Neds right.

Eddard smiled. "Sansa would you come hold Rickon? I think I shall even this playing field."

Grinning, Sansa came over and took her youngest brother from her father.

Ned pushed away from the wall and slowly moved towards the lock of floating red hair. Unlike his children he kept almost completely submerged in the water, using the same walk that Herian had.

When the red hair slipped back under the waves, he lunged forward under the water. His long arms wrapping around an elvish waist.

He shot out of the water, sending waves in his wake.

"No, no! Fowl! Not fair! Put me down!" Herian wiggled in his grasp like an eel.

Everyone laughed.

"Alright." Ned dropped the elf, who landed with another great splash.

Herian rose glaring at him, and spun on her heel walking.

How one could strut in water, was a mystery for another day. Ned watched her go, the sway of her hips, till they disappeared.

"How do you swim like that?" Ayra asked picking her way over the pool.

Herian partly crossed her legs so the water came up to her shoulders. "You don't swim?" she asked.

All the Starks save Rickon and Ned nodded.

"Wow." Herian commented softly, Herian leaned forward and kicked off coming to float around Ayra. "Its very simple. I just make myself as long as I can be and kick from my hips, not my knees. Then use my arms to feel my way or to keep my chest up." She demonstrated a swipe of her hand through the water, fingers outstretched for maximum surface area. "I'll be happy to teach if you want to learn."

Jon, Bran and Robb had walked over as well, Jon had a feeling this would be much more fun than the average lesson from Herian.

"Yes please." The five chorused, even Ayra remembering her manners.

"Alright. But before you swim, you must be able to float." She kicked off way from the three and rolled onto her back, arms outstretched at her shoulders, legs apart like a starfish. "This is easiest," she said, "the trick is to keep your butt from sinking but holding it up with your core, and taking big deep breaths. Lots of air makes floating easier."

She turned back around and walked over to Ayra, still staying with the water to her shoulders. "Hold my shoulder, then lean back."

Ayra grip was like a vise, but she did as she was told. Herians arms came up under her on just under her shoulder blades the other at her knees.

"Now stick that little tummy up and stretch your legs out as far as they will go."

Ayra did so and wobbled, she almost panicked but Herian pressed her hands slightly harder against the small girl.

"No rush, take your time."

Ayra took two great big deep breaths and floated, Herian lowered her hands slightly, but still close enough that Ayra could feel that they were there.

"Now let go of my shoulder, don't worry if you fall I will catch you." Herian voice took on a low trust inducing purr.

Slowly Ayra let go of her shoulder and stuck her arm out.

"See not hard." Herian said with a smile as Ayra floated unsupported. "When you get really good at it, you won't need to pretend to be a star fish and will be able to relax. I find floating better than any bed."

Ayra tried to nod but dipped, Herian steadied her.

As Ayra's instruction came to a conclusion, the boys attempted it. There bobbing butts make both Herian and Ned laugh.

Ned took Rickon from Sansa so the girl to join in the floating game, but moved to stand between his children, ready to lend a hand should it be needed.

Robb and Jon had made a game of how could float the longest, so far Jon was winning by about five seconds.

Herian first split her attention between Robb and Jon, once they got there legs straight and torsos up they both got the hang of it. Then she helped Sansa and Bran in the same manner that she had first taught Ayra.

Herian was close to calling them the 'Stark starfishes' watching the five eldest Starks float slowly around the pool.

Ayra was the first to start experimenting with swimming. Herian along her side, correcting or giving hints, and did one rescue when Ayra drifted into deep end.

Bran and Ayra proceed to master the 'dog paddle' while Sansa, Robb and Jon followed Herian around trying to mimic her more elegant form of swimming. She would change it up just to confuse them on occasion, kicking normally one minute, to locking her legs together and swimming like a dolphin, to slow great wide kicks that required very little energy.

While none were very good, at least they wouldn't drown if they fell into a lake.

"Swim!" Rickon, struggled in his fathers arms.

Strangely the youngest Stark picked it up the fastest. Herian and swam around towards Eddard. Ned very carefully let Rickon go, walking slowly beside his son hands hovering ready to grab him at the first dip.

Herian stopped just a meter away from the little Stark and was rather surprised when he went straight for her and dragged a fist full of her hair. Herian carefully pulled the boy to her chest an arm around his back. "I guess it's my turn." she mused allowed.

"If you would." Ned wanted to play with this children, watching was all well and good, but there were water fights that need to happen.

"Sure." That and there was no way she would be able to get Rickon to let go of her hair.

She kicked off to the side, heading toward the shallow end from which Ned had come.

Rickon gave a giggle of delight at the speed.

Ned turned to his children with a grin.

Robb, Jon and Sansa having played this game, said together. "Oh no." And leaped away from their father, making use of their new skills.

"Uh?" Ayra said turning to watch her brothers and sisters flee, then turned back toward her father to see a great wave bare down on her. She screeched when it hit her, hearing her father charge toward her she turned and ran as fast as the water would allow. Which was not very, with another great sweep of his arm, Ned sent another wave over his youngest daughter.

On impulse Ayra ducked below the surface and swam with all her might towards her siblings.

She came up beside Jon, and the game began. Five against one.

Robb and Jon launched their first attack in unison, mimicking Neds sweeping waves. Unfortunately for them, their father was still much larger than them and his waves cancelled theirs out.

Herian threaded her fingers together, holding them up so Ayra and Sansa could see, as Neds back was to her. She made a clenching motion them put them in the water and did it again. A small jet of water, squirted out between her palms, soaring high.

Ayra and Sansa flanked Eddard, squirting for all their worth, getting Ned well and truely soaked.

Laughing Ned swung arms out creating huge waves, that both girls ducked under water to avoid.

Robb, Jon and Bran, leaped at their father, their combined mass set the Lord falling backward in a huge splash. They scrambled away before the Lord of the North could recover.

Herian watched as the children laughed and ran from their father. He was a like a great wolf, drawfing his pups.

"When in doubt." Herian said to Rickon. "Gorilla warfare." They watched the Stark children tried and get their father to fall in the water. Sometimes they attacked together other times, individually.

"I wanna play." Rickon said back.

"Hmm." Herian thought, quirking her lips. "How about I give you a piggy back ride and we go help your brothers and sisters."

Rickon nodded and they moved till he was happy on her back, hands in her hair, gripping her ribs tightly with his legs.

Herian shot off, causing Rickon to give a squeal of delight.

Ned turned just in time to get a face full of water.

Herain and shifted to have her legs forward, but used her arms to keep both her and Rickons heads above water. In a very fast manner she kicked, showering Ned in water.

With a roaring laugh, Ned lunged at her, but caught only water as Herian had flipped over onto her front and was swimming away with all her might. After all, she had a charge to protect now.

Thanks to Herians distraction the other Starks attacked, Robb and Jon going for Neds back, while Ayra and Bran shared one arm and Sansa got the other.

The Lord of the North went down with a laugh, when he resurfaced he smiled broadly. "Well done." He said warmly.

"That was fun!" Sansa said, her lessons forgotten. "Why didn't we do that more before?"

Ned pulled Bran to his chest, as he was the smallest and closest. "Your mother was more concerned with your lessons." His voice was warm, though he never agreed with Cat on forcing Ayra and Sansa to devote all their time to becoming ladies. They were wolves too, and wolf pups played. "Its how I learned to swim, Benjen and I would team up against Brandon. He being the taller and stronger, we had to be faster."

Herian swam back to them, Rickon was very keen on staying on her back. His little hands fisted in her hair. "No better way to learn." She commented, kneeling in the water while the others had sat one way or another.

There was a knock on the door and Rodrick Cassel came in. "Supper is ready when you are my Lords and Ladies." he smiled broadly. "The kitchen staff have been very determined to celebrate your return."

Jon and Ayra were the first ones moving, food always sounded good to those two.

"I'll take Rickon." Sansa said.

Herian turned so Sansa could gently pull the boy away.

"No!" he whinned.

"Shh." Sansa said.

Herian tapped a finger under Rickons chin. "I'll be there for dinner, you can sit in my lap. If that will make you happy."

Rickon let out a happy giggle and Sansa took him away to get dressed. Ned leaned back on his hands, stretching out, enjoying the hot water just as much as the elf.

Jon pulled Robb and Bran out of the hall when everyone was dressed. Giving his brothers a smile when they looked confused.

Herian leaned back and allowed herself to float, the hot water lifting her up.

Ned watched the elf from under lidded eyes and quickly determined, that she had lovely breasts. They practically begged to be played with as they the water cradled them. His eyes traced up from them to her hair, it floated around her in a near halo. She was so relaxed, completely at ease. He was glad he worked on getting to know her better, Rickon seemed quite taken with her. Which was a bit odd, given that she and the boy hadn't had much contact before they left Winterfell. But given the boys fixation with her hair, maybe it reminded him of Catelyn.

Eddard was faced with an interesting conundrum, he and Catelyn had been shoved in a room together after knowing each other for a day at best. The one other woman he had, didn't really allow for proper courting. So how was he going to court a woman so completely opposite to everything he was use to.

He did want to court her, that was for certain, but how was going to be the hard part. She might like flowers, but he had a feeling she'd more appreciate the thought more then the thing. Sparing was one rather good idea, thinking back on their fight in Kings Landing with this new frame of mind. He made his heart rate pick up, he remembered how he had ended up on top of her. He was thankful for the dark water then.

Herian hadn't moved an inch, so he guessed the water was hampering her hearing.

A good brawl might be something to try, he would bet half of Winterfell that getting her blood up would make it easier. Plus that would be easy to arrange, after that boring farce of tourney in the south, he would enjoy a proper northern brawl. He would have to gather the Lords of the North soon for the grain debate, festivals were a part of that. Otherwise having that many northmen in one place would surely end in bloodshed, better to keep everyone distracted.

Still that was one thing, not good enough by a long shot. Stories always seemed to interest her, maybe he could tell her stories of the north. Now that they were home and safer, she wouldn't need to spend all her time around him. So finding excuses to have her around, might be wise as well.

Or maybe he could just try to steal kisses, that might also be a good start. A particularly deep breath from the elf made her breasts swell from his point up few. Kisses were most definitely on the list of things to do.

Feeling playful, Eddard reached out grabbed an ankle and pulled her into his lap.

Herian gave out a yelp but quickly found herself steadied but the lords large hands on the small of her back. Her legs settling around his waist.

"What was that for?" Herian asked, she didn't know where to put her hands. On his shoulders seemed like a good spot as she floated just over his lap.

"I thought you might fall asleep." He squeezed her back with one had very slightly. "I couldn't have you falling asleep in my hotsprings and sinking."

The elf had to smile at that. "So you decided to rescue me?"

Ned smiled back. "I did." He dipped his head and kissed her very softly on the lips.

Herian stiffened, but relaxed when he didn't press for more.

When she relaxed, another small kiss, lips very slightly parted.

Herians brain was in two places, three guesses as to where and the first two don't count. Very slowly she started to mimic, the Lord, the thinking part of her brain said she should find herself elsewhere. The rest of it said to oblivion with that, these kisses were much more manageable than their first one.

Ned let out a low purr when she started to return the gesture and pulled her carefully closer to him. He didn't want to trap her, clearly that had been a problem last time. The Lord did not make the same errors twice. Very softly he swiped the tip of his tongue out to just glance over her bottom lip.

Bye bye brain, it was nice having you around. Herian purred and pressed herself to Ned unthinkingly, copying him, dipping her tongue forward.

Neds lips parted for her and he allowed her to explore, sliding his tongue over hers when she summoned up the courage to deepen the kiss.

Herian only pulled away when her body demanded air, only then noticing how her breasts were flush with his chest. Her body felt, so very warm and she was sure it wasn't just the water. Long neglected parts of her body, ached and everywhere they touched felt hypersensitive.

Ned marvelled at her, her hair curling in spite of the water. Sticking to her cheeks, eyes dilated with lust, lips wet and so welcoming. He watched when she swallowed and softly said. "We should get going."

"Gods know that my pups are getting up to unattended." He loosed his grip, but stole another small kiss.

It was much easier to remain calm this time, Herian returned the kiss. Then slipped away before he could stop her, not that he would have that time.

Herian was dried and dressed almost as fast as she had undressed, pointedly giving Ned his privacy.

The two set off together to see what feast the kitchen had created.

The five Stark children plus Rodrick knew better than to wait for their father and the elf. Instead they tucked into the pies, meats and vegetables. Sansa, Jon and Ayra, telling their brothers all about Kings Landing.

"It sounds awful." Robb said.

"It was." Jon said. "Father and Herian were wound up so tight you could see it from half the Keep away."

"Why did we leave Father and Herian behind?" Bran asked.

Rodrick was wondering that too, he had stayed mostly silent as the children told their stories.

Jon and Ayra looked to Sansa, this was much more her thing.

After finishing her sip of honeyed milk, Sansa launched into the events of the Kings road.

"I think he warged her when she was out hunting." Jon said and asked Robb. "Have you and Bran warged?"

"Yes, we asked Old Nan when it happened to both of us. She told us stories that matched what happened to us." Robb said.

"You think they are getting close?" Bran asked. "Like mother and father, close?"

"Not yet." Sansa said. "Herian sounded very angry about whatever he had done, but he was holding her by the end of it."

Robb hadn't seen much of the elf and next to nothing of her relaxed. "Do you think that is a good thing?" She had handled Rickon well, not unlike what their mother used to do, before Rickon got to heavy for her.

The two girls and Jon nodded together.

"I think we should help them out." Sansa said.

Rodrick cut in there. "I don't think your father needs any help wooing a woman."

The looks the Stark children made him reconsider his statement.

"What do you think we should do Sansa?" Robb asked.

Sansa frowned thinking. "Well Herian isn't a Lady, but if she is going to love and marry father. Then she will need to learn how to be, so I could try and draw her into my lessons. Maybe even get her to wear a dress, you can never really tell what she looks like under her usual clothes."

"She didn't even bother with a towel in the hotspring." Bran mentioned.

Robb had found that odd but when Jon hadn't even batted and an eye he guessed it was normal for her. He could always trust in Jon.

"That's just Herian. When she fought father she went at him in nothing but breeches and small clothes." Jon said.

"Sometimes artfully hiding can have greater effect than being bare." Rodrick mused.

"So she defiantly needs dresses." Ayra said, she had seem some of the Kings whores, she understood what Rodrick had said.

"And we need to convince her to wear them." Jon said.

"That will be the hard thing." Sansa agreed, sharing his tone.

"She liked it when you braided her hair Sansa." Ayra said taking a huge bite out of sausage. "Maybe you could work on getting her into dresses then."

"Don't talk with your mouth full Ayra." Sansa scolded, but then said. "But that could work."

"Jon and I could sneak into her room and get measurements of her clothes." Robb said, this was starting to sound like it could become a great adventure.

"Good idea." Sansa said, that way she could just make the dresses. Not having to get Herian to stand still for long enough to get measurements would make things much easier.

"You said she had lots of songs. Maybe you could get her to teach them to you, then you could teach them to father!" Bran said, he had always liked how Herian sounded. He remembered when she helped him shoot, her voice was calming and soft.

"She did mention courting songs." Jon said, then he took a bite out of his steak.

Robb nodded sharply. "So that is her down, now how are we going to help father?"

A great HMMMmm went around the table.

For a moment, the children sat around the table in silence. They continued to eat and mutter about, but most of their time was spent thinking. Ideas rattled their brains like nails inside a barrel. Some had easy and well thought out ideas, and others were so out there that if one of them actually tried it, there was a good chance they wouldn't be seeing the outside of their rooms for quite a long time afterwards. Course given the matters at hand, few of them actually considered the consequences of their actions if the plan worked.

"Anything?"

A collective sigh could be heard around the table.

"Father leaves far fewer options." Bran muttered, slightly depressed. Most of his ideas would have involved convincing Ned of something, but each of them knew how fruitless that escapade would be. It was doomed of failure from the very start.

Robb leaned back in his chair and gave a nod. Out of all the Stark Children, Robb considered himself the most alike to his father when compared to the others. He knew how the man thought, or at least considered himself too. And by that knowledge, fooling the lord, even for a short time was akin to asking for trouble.

"Is there anything he might like? Maybe to get him on the right track?"

Jon shook his head, "Doubtful. Father doesn't seem like the type to pay that much attention to such things. The best we could do is shove it in his face, but that might simply get him suspicious."

"Wonderful." Arya mumbled with a mouth half full, "And I was so hoping to see father in something a bit more appealing than what he normally wears."

Robb rolled his eyes, "You'd just like to see him squirm around in something that he is not too used to. Father has never done formal well. He enjoys his normal attire far too much for that."

"Perhaps, but it'd still be fun."

As they talked Sansa sat up and clapped her hands. The sound quickly echoed through the room, catching the attention of her siblings and Rodrick as well. The Master-at-arms simply stood off to the side with an amused look on his face.

"Can we please get back to the topic at hand?" Sansa asked, "There must be some way for us to get father acquainted with what we have planned."

Arya flicked a piece of meat off her fork and twirled the silverware in her hand, "Why not just invite him along for a bit? Have him just spend time with us for some time?"

"And what would that accomplish?"

Of the children, it was no secret that Arya wished for some time to spend with their father. His time as the King's hand had eaten up nearly anytime he could spend with his children. For some this wasn't much of an issue. Jon was distracted with his studies, Sansa with that bastard known as Joffery, and Robb and her other brothers had remained in Winterfell during such a time. None of them faulted the young lass for being lonely, but such an idea didn't help with what they were trying to do at the moment.

But Arya merely shook her head, "No, I mean we could use that to plant some ideas in his head!"

Jon blinked, "What?"

"While doing...I don't know, anything with father, any one of us could take a moment and suggest something to him! Anything, anything at all really! During a meagre walk, during a light spar, just eating dinner with him! Just take a moment and mutter something, just to get him thinking about it!"

For a moment, there was silence. The other siblings turned to each other, each sharing a small glance at whoever was sitting next to them. For many, their eyes were wide, confused. Very few of them had any idea of what to say at such an idea.

Eventually however, Bran looked up and blinked, "Are we sure this is still Arya talking?"

"Hey!"

Just then Eddard and Herian walked into the hall, both still damp from the spring, Herian still slightly flushed.

Rodd and Jon exchanged a knowing look.

"I see you wasted no time getting started." Ned said taking his place in the centre of them.

Herian picked a spot of to the side and fell victim to a beef stew.

"We couldn't let it get cold!" Ayra said.

"That would have been a shame." Ned agreed, carving off a large piece of venison and filling his plate with vegetables. He was glad for northern fair again, all the foods of the south could get so tiresome. He much preferred the wholesome northern foods.

Herian was enjoying her meal as well, it was good, but it made her miss ash yam and horker stew. Though she thought as she chewed on a perfectly cooked piece of meat, it's a good substitute.

Sansa saw that Herian was actually eating slowly for once, enjoying her food. "Do you like it Herian?"

The elf looked over momentary stunned to be included, she swallowed. "Uh, yes. It's good."

"Do you have something like it in your homeland?" Sansa asked, now would be a time to fish for information!

"Ash yam and horker stew. Horkers are rather like your walrus, though smaller and white." She didn't get why Sansa way asking.

"What are ash yams?" The girl asked.

"A tangy sweet root vegetable that only grow in the ashlands." Chani grew some of the best ever! Herian's mouth watered at the thought.

"Ashlands?" Bran asked. "Like in the stories of Valyria? All lava and rock?"

"More or less." She had a quick bite. "Though we have more plants I imagine, special ones that grow only there. Before the Red Year, Vvardenfell had some of the best soil in Tamriel. Ashen soil is often the best for growing foods, they are rich in flavour and nutrients." She doubt they had a word in there language for that one last, but it was worth a shot. "Or at least that was what I have been told, I was born long after the Red Year. The Red mountain still fills the air with ash, but I know the council is turning its gaze back to Vvardenfell. Calling more Dunmer home."

"What is Vvardenfell?" Asked Bran, it was like listening to Old Nans stories.

"Uhh, hmm, okay." Herian reached over beside her to Ayra's plate. "So the province of the Dunmer is Morrowind. It connects to Cyrodiil, Skyrim and Black Marsh." She made a mock map out of Ayra's food.

This made the girl giggle, her eyes flicked to her father.

Eddard was smiling, and looking to hold back a laugh of his own. There would be no chastising about playing with food from him.

"Vvardenfell is a huge island in the upper middle of Morrowind, it is almost the same size as the rest of the province put together." She added an island out of mashed potato, forking a carrot she put it in the middle of the island. "Red Mountain is also called Vvardenfell, it is Tamriel's largest volcano. Many centuries it exploded and destroyed almost everything the Dunmer had bit around it." She used the fork to drawn a line that most reached the borders of the other provinces. "It's been some three centuries since, so the council and my Grandmother are looking to recolonise."

"Wow." Ayra said staring at her plate, it must have been really something to drive a people as strong and hardy as Herian's away.

"Lots of the animals will still be gone of course, but you never know what has sprung up while we've been gone." Herian turned back to her food.

Ayra ate the 'volcano' carrot.

"Will you tell us more stories later?" Bran asked, he loved stories. Maybe she had scary stories, like the ones Nan would tell.

Herian shrugged. "Sure."

Eddard who had been focusing on his food, found that he rather like the idea of listening to Herian's stories. She would probably simplify them for Bran, so they might end up easier of the rest of them to digest.

"But couldn't it happen again?" Robb asked.

"Yes, though the explosion wasn't normally caused. But that is a story for another day. Once it calms down a bit more, we'll be fine a bit of heat and ash don't bother us." Herian said. "Its like you Starks and the cold."

"I don't know, fire is harder to deal with then cold." Robb said remembering the fire in the library.

Herian reached out and stuck her hand threw the candle flame, and let it dance around her palm.

Sansa let out a yelp and jumped to grab Herian's hand but Ned steady her.

Herian pulled her hand away and turned to over.

The Starks stared at the perfect skin.

Ayra reached out and touched it. "It's not even hot."

"My people are fire and ash, it can't hurt us." The elf returned her attention to her stew.

"So it is like us, cold doesn't bother a Stark." Robb said.

"Wait till winter comes." Ned said looking at his eldest. "Then you'll feel the colds bite."

"Of course father, I just meant in general." Robb looked down at this food.

Ned smiled. "I know."

After the meal everyone retired, though Ned noticed he didn't comment on how all this children's rooms had been moved closer to his. Catelyn's room had been left empty, as it was when she died.

Rodrick showed Herian to her room, only a few steps down from Neds. Neither of them commented on what that generally meant.

With a little bow Rodrick left her to explore her new abode.

It was moderately sized, but bigger than the rooms that the children had. One large fireplace with a bed on the inner wall next to it. A large wardrobe and two stands for her weapons and armour. On the far wall was a reading table and chair, under one of two high windows, under the other window was an empty table and bench. Herian knew instantly that it would be perfect for alchemy. One the farthest wall, a large empty book case, the elf guessed word of her book collection had made it up north. There was even a small room off to the side behind the bookshelf that she guessed led to a privy.

Herian put a hand on the wall and left the water rushing through the walls. Heavy furs covered the floor before the fire place and around her bed. It's linens were white and fresh, with many have pelts covering it.

"Why do I get the feeling I am being treated?" Herian mused softly, but made her way over to her would be alchemy table. She set her satchel on the table and started unloading. Her books only filled two shelves, but her armours looked quite nice on the stands. Her box of potions, and the other of bombs went on the table. She moved softly across the room and opened the wardrobe, heavy tunics, breeches and cloaks took up half the space, but she managed to squirrel away what little casual wear she had. Her tribunal armour went there as well, it was much too cold for it here.

Fang and Claw ended up sitting on wall mounts to the left her daedric armour. Her two witcher blades the right of the corresponding set.

Herian stood in the middle of the room and found that she didn't know what to do with herself. She snapped her fingers of a hand with a quick Igni and a fire leapt to life in the hearth. It had long since grown dark, so she wandered over to her bed and pulled the furs back. The maids had squirreled sleep wear underneath.

Herian picked up the nightgown with the tips of her fingers and held it up like some poisonous snake. Under the gown were long socks, leggings and small clothes.

The elf blinked in disbelief, she was supposed to wear these things?! She understood it was cold, but she didn't think it was THAT cold yet. Though someone had clearly put thought into them, she put the nightgown down and folded the top of a sock inside out. It was silk lined, so someone had wisely guessed that scratchy wool would not agree with her.

Herian slowly peeled herself out of her garb, the cold hit her like a sack of bricks.

She shivered and pulled off the rest of her clothes fast as she could, then with some difficulty managed to get the socks on. Then she reached for the leggings, but paused eyeing the small clothes with disdain. She understood why people wore them, but as an elf she didn't even have a human female's cycle. Her breasts would continue to gleefully defy gravity for a very long while yet. A breeze over her nipples gave her, the answer and she pulled the small clothes on. For all she knew the leggings would have some strange knitted line that she wasn't used to. Lastly after a little bit of fighting she got the nightgown over her head and her arms through the right holes.

It all felt very heavy, she thought but she was already warmer. She sat on the edge of the queen sized bed, why did they give her such a big room? To fit the bed? The elf bounced on it slightly, it was feather stuffed and very soft. How was she supposed to sleep on this thing? The bear pelt before the fireplace looked more inviting.

Across the room, still sitting on her now dubbed alchemy table her box glowed.

Herian was up and across the room before the shine ebbed.

Popping it open was a large thick letter.

Herian turned to over to view the seal in white wax, but unlike her Grandmothers seal, this was was a replica of the Witcher wolf school.

Harimand.

She walked back over to the fire sat on the pelt and opened the letter.

The first words were.

 _"This letter is charmed to alert me when you open it."_

Herian left the almost alien magical draw from the moon and star amulet around her neck.

"Hello sister mine." Harimands voice filled the room, deep and kind, filled with love.

"Harry." Herian smiled and injected all her love into that one word.

"You sounded so confused and lonely in your letter, that I decided that writing back wouldn't be enough. Though I did answer all your questions in it, even got a few Succubi to help me with the pictures." His voice was filled with mirth. "And don't worry, I am providing most of the energy for this call."

That would be why Herian wrote letters rather than just calling, as the amulets allowed. She didn't have the magicka to open and sustain a connection.

"Pictures?" Herian felt her brow raise and flipped past the first ten pages of writing. The imagines made her blush. "I only asked about kisses."

"True." Harry mused, but she could here his smile. "But you failed to mention where you were being kissed, so I felt a detailed report would be better."

Herian flicked threw a few more pages of pictures and she could see where the Succubi came in. She could feel her ears turn as red as her cheeks. "I am inexperienced, not ignorant."

"Sweety, you've always been more inclined to cut a mans prick off and shove it down his throat, then let him poke you with it. A few nights on contract, in a whore house, trying to catch a murderer, does not count as an education." Harry always knew how to purr just the right way to make her relax.

A few more pages. "But this is still extreme!" she exclaimed, she could a picture where Harry had a Succubus, said succubus was narrating how to properly tie a woman up. She couldn't help it she slowed down and went over the images more slowly.

"Don't forget to read it from the start, don't get tied up on the pretty pictures."

She stuck her tongue out and Harry laughed.

"So tell me about this man who has got you asking about kisses."

Herian could hear Harry leaning forward, had they been in the same room she was sure he would be fixing her with that seeking stare of his.

She gave her fellow Witcher a quick run down of the world, then said. "His name is Eddard Stark. He is the Lord of this Winterfell, we would call him a High King as the rest of the houses in the north answer to him. About six, seven, broader than you, but lean like you. With raven black hair and a thick well kept beard, with eyes as grey as a winter storm. Or like the lake at Kaer Morhen. He is famous for being cold hearted, but he has always been warm with me and his children."

"Mother mentioned you had taken an apprentice from them, Jon was it?"

"Aye. Very like this father, only fourteen, but very intelligent and quick. Very little slips past him."

"Sounds like a good choice." Harry said. "So what exactly happened that night this Lord jumped into your mind?"

Herian shook her head. "I still don't know, I'll hit up the library at some point here. We've both slept at the same time lately, so I think he can only do it when I am running with sister wolf."

"That is very likely, it doesn't sound like any form of telepathy that I know. You could always try Occlumency." Harry mentioned his homewolds magic casually. "Severus is always up to teach someone new now a days."

"I couldn't learn it when you tried to teach me, I don't think Uncle Sev will be any luckier."

"It was just a thought."

There was silence for a moment, Herian flipped back to the start of the letter.

"Have you told them? Or him?" Harimand asked.

"No."

"Sister, unlike me you actually have ashlander blood and are Urshilaku. You know Sul-Matuul's family is getting small and he wasn't young when Mother made him Emperor. You should at the very least tell this Eddard that you could be summoned away."

"There are still Aunts Chani, Keria and my father." Herian combated.

"Chani and Korta are too Khajiit and Keria is half nord! You look mostly dunmer, and you have some of mothers features to boot."

"Tibre Septim was a nord, the people might even like that. Plus Keria has actually lived her whole life there, I've only visited really." Herian knew it was flimsy at best.

"Tell that to the Counts that were drooling all over you at the last dragon council."

Herian winced. "You are never going to let me live that down are you?"

"You are an heir, whether you like it or not. Plus you looked stunning in that moonstone and glass dress. I still remember the stars in your hair, how you glowed in the light. I swear Mother put some charm on you, to make you glow. Maybe I should get mother to send that to you, knock the socks off this Eddard of yours."

"No!" The last thing she need was questions about why she had dresses that made Cersei look like a common whore. "And besides, I won't get called on. I won't rule, I would be a terrible Empresses! Sul-Matuul has two sons and a daughter, his line isn't in any danger and ours doesn't rule." She said those last words with finality.

"Do I need to remind you what happened to Uriel Septim? We were down to using his BASTARD! And his family was not small, if someone gets it into their head they don't don't want an Ashlander on the Ruby throne you know it can happen." Tamriel was still feeling the pain of the Oblivion Crisis.

"Grandmother-"

"Mother is stepping back again, you know it, I know it. Everyone knows it. You know they call her the Living God, and you know she is trying her damndest to not become like Almalexia. She retires to her plane of Oblivion more and more. Once Vvardenfell is safe again you'll know she'll leave the mortal plane for good. She has never been the same after-"

"We don't talk about that. You know that, thy name is cursed." she whispered.

"The Forgotten God." Harry finished softly.

"I won't get called."

Harry was silent for a moment. "You probably won't, but you should still tell him that he is trying to court an almost heir to the throne."

"No thanks. I am a Witcher, I will pull a Ciri if I have to." She spoke with grim determination.

Harry laughed. "Except you are not the Lady of Time and Space."

"Then I will take you with me, together we could stay one step ahead of even Grandmother."

"That does sound fun." Harry conceded, then said warmly. "Miss you sister."

"Miss you back, love you lots." Herian returned.

They both shared a chuckle.

"Did a Leshen really kick your ass?" Harry asked.

"I wasn't prepared."

"Uh, huh, right. So what's your feeling on the realms magic?"

"It has grown stronger since I came here, but still not near the flow required for Grandmother to anchor herself. It made me ill for a long while, but I'm adapted to it now. I could probably serve as an anchor, at least for a little while."

"I'll keep that in mind should this Lord win your heart and marry you. I would not miss that for the worlds!"

Herian could hear Harrys jubilation and she smiled.

"Not likely to happen."

The Witcher a world away grinned. "I wouldn't bet on that, I will put a thousand crowns on that once he finds a knick in your armour. You'll be warming his bed faster, than horney succubus."

"What is it with you and succubuses? Succubi?" Herian tested the worlds.

"Hey the horny goat women like me! And they have perfect tits, plus I can feed them in a way no normal man can! Praise be to mutations and magic!"

"Stories of you seducing the goat ladies is the last thing I need right now." Herian eyed his missive again, it would require many readings.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it sister." Harimand smirked.

Herian opened her mouth to respond, remembered the kisses in the hot spring and snapped it shut so sharply her teeth clicked.

Harry's laughter roared over the link and echoed in her room.

Harry let out a happy sigh. "How about this, I will visit Chani and send just the white moon stone and glass dress with your crown, and maybe a pair of gold ear cuffs. Then if you need it, you have something nice to wear. It won't pass for a wedding gown, but it would fit for any high born important occasion." He paused thinking for a moment. "Oh and your body paint, the magic kind that draws itself."

"If I say yes, will you let it go?" Herian asked hopefully.

"For a little while." Harry said. "Or maybe I should come visit, I really do miss you."

Herian looked slowly around the room and sent him the imagine. "Okay, but let me warn Ned first."

"Alright, but don't take to long or I will come shouting at you whether you are ready or not!" He spoke with a triumphant tone.

"Goodnight brother, love you."

"Goodnight, love you too."

Harry snapped the link and Herian was alone again, but the room didn't feel quite so lonely.

 **I am feeling abnormally generous, so you get this early. For those who haven't figured it out, I have an awesome timeline. Can I put a request in for more then three reviews a chapter? You guys were doing so well, but once I stop mentioning it... Oh poll! I will keep bugging on that topic till I have enough people to form at least a little bit of a consensus. Also I noticed that I forgot to mention where last chapters songs came from, that has been fixed.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Major crossing over with Over Sea and Sky, this is a multiverse tale so don't be surprised, as well as LOTS of witcher stuff. Kudos to anyone who catches my Terry Pratchett 'Colour of Magic' reference.**

Friends and Booze

Herian woke well before dawn, though it would have been dawn in the south, but winter was coming and the night with it. Her bedclothes were twisted so tight around herself that she almost couldn't breath. The Witcheress sat up and fixed them, then laid back down to stare at the ceiling. Sleep would not come, it was too quiet. Neds breathing was usually present soft and lulling. She rolled over under the heavy pelts and stared at the dark windows. Her fire had long since gone out.

She slipped out from under the blankets and allowed her eyes to shift over to wolf. The room took on greys and whites, with flecks of other colours in the dark. Walking over she pulled out the heavy northern clothing Rodrick had set aside for her. Getting dressed was a cold affair, but well worth the effort, sweeping a cloak that had a timber wolf pelt over her shoulders, she was quite warm. Herian had to smile at the choice of wolf, very fitting.

On the way out she stopped by her swords, then selected her Witchers steel, strapping it onto her back. She still found wearing swords on her hips odd, and to be frank she liked the Dimeritium blades far more, lighter more flexible. Witchers blades were custom made for the Witcher, no two were the same. The length was fit to the witcher, some drew by putting a finger under the guard and flicking it out, other drew normally. She had a habit of using her other hand to lower the angle of the blade for an easier draw, the same with sheathing. Out of habit she picked up a Shallow and Cat Eye potion and stashed them in her pockets.

Silently she slinked out of her room and wandered Winterfell, it had dozens of courtyards and small open spaces. Weapon practice in the outer yards the inner had small gardens of winter plants and trees. Everything was dusted with snow, no one was stirring this early not even the kitchen staff.

Eventually she looped around past the smithy into the training yard and was moderately surprised to find Jon there. She slipped into one of many shadows to watch him.

Training with Eddard had done the boy wonders, as had carrying around the Ice Blade of the Monarch for almost six months. The teen had gained a great deal of muscle throughout him and height he had gone from only coming up to Herian's shoulder to just a few inches shorter. He would end up bigger than her, she was sure of it. Maybe even more so than his tall northern father.

The ebony blade danced through the air, stabbing and sweeping in great arcs that would cleave men in two.

Herian smiled, he was coming along nicely. Softly she drew her blade and strode silently into the field. The darkness cloaked her completely, Jon only saw her when the Ice Blade met hers.

Jon could barely make out the elf and her sword. "Morning Herian."

"Morning Jon. Do you wish for company?"

Jon thought on that, he wanted to show her what he had been learning. He hadn't tested himself against the elf in some time. "I would, but I can't see very well. I would rather go through forms then fight you."

Herian's hand went up to the Cat in her pocket, she lowered her sword and tucked it into the crook of her arm. Working a heavy glove off she pulled two of her gold rings off with her teeth, spat them into her hand and offered them to Jon.

"Put these on."

Jon groped in the dark slightly but found them quickly. As he slipped them on, a warm tingling sensation filled him, he reconsidered the feel of her magic. Though it was less hostile than his last taste. "I still can't see." He said.

Herian pulled the cork of the Cat potion out of put it on her pocket, then put the potion in his hand. "Drink this."

He did and coughed, it was a vile concoction he only just managed to keep it down. Yet nothing happened.

The Witcher took the potion away recapped it and stored it away. Witcher potions were carefully weighed, finding the right type of vile would be slightly challenging here.

"Nothing's happening." Jon said.

"Give it a few minutes. You metabolism is slower than mine by a great deal, they work on me instantly. Were you to take Shallow it would several days before effects could be seen." Herain pulled her glove back one. She had a grand total of four rings to fight the toxicity of Witcher potions, had she the resources she would make more. However she very rarely took decorations, so the four rings were good for about four potions. Two would keep Jon from any harm, or showing effects, she didn't want to explain that to Ned.

"What is metabolism?" Jon asked, it was a very strange word.

"Put simply, it is the rate at which your body converts food to energy. Or absorbs herbs or alcohol. For me, getting drunk takes a lot of very fine liquor and a great deal of time, the body absorbs, say alcohol is many stages. The potion is the same, you will start feeling effects soon as your esophagus absorbs it but will come into full effect once your stomach absorbs it." That was made brutally simple.

"Esophagus?" Jon pointed at his throat, he had only recently gotten to books on human biology. Needles to say he was learning lots of new words.

"Yes." Herian said with a smile.

Very suddenly Jon felt like his eyes were being stabbed. "Ow!" A hand raced up this his eyes and he covered them.

Herian hear the SLLISSH sound from the teens eyes, then he blinked as the pain quickly faded and lowered his hand.

"Wow." Jon's head was on a pivoted as he took in the courtyard. It had become lit with white light and he could see the moon clearly through the clouds. It was almost like a bright mid day, just without the colour.

The Witcheress smiled. "There, now you see better then me. You will get used to the pain for the most part. Black Blood is the worst, but I haven't heard hid nor hair of necophages here yet." She brought both hands to her sword then raised it to a high guard to the side of her head.

Jon smiled and in spite of the cold, they danced.

Rodrick was the first to make his way out, with the blacksmith Mikken, torch in hand. Both older men stalled in their steps at the sight that greeted them.

It was obviously Jon and Herian, the slight of Herian beating the snot out of the poor boy was not unusual before they had left.

What stopped them was how improved Jon was, Eddard had been teaching him well, but here. Clearly they had been at it for a long while, Jon was moving like the elf, he as fast on his feet and had a spring in each step.

Faces couldn't be seen, just the vague shapes of the two combatants, the two old men walked around the edge of the yard toward the smithy, eventually the torch like illuminated the two dancers just enough so their blades could be seen as well.

Jon's midnight blue sword, to Herian's dark steel, the boy had grown to a master very quickly and Herian had that energy that meant she was having fun. Though it was tempered by the teaching and Witchers mindset.

"Good morning." Rodrick called out.

Both the elf and teen stopped mid swing, Jon looked to Herian.

"Enough for now." She said and sheathed her blade.

Jon too had chosen an over the shoulder harness, but his was less of a sheath more of a band of leather he could fasten and unfasten to rest his blade in.

"Morning Ser Rodrick." Jon smiled at the stout man.

Herian bowed her head in greeting.

"Do your rooms suit you Lady?" Rodrick asked.

Herian blanched. "There is no reason to call me lady." Though her conversation with Harimand rushed back to her mind with force. "Herian is fine. And yes I do, I feel rather spoiled."

Jon heard the slight wobble in Herian's voice, most women would love to be called Lady. What had her disliking the title so?

"Nonsense." Rodrick said. "You have long since earned it."

Herian smiled tightly and said. "Thank you for the clothes, they fit well."

Rodrick laughed. "I am glad, the seamstresses had a Gods forsaken time guessing your size."

"Then I will make a point to thank them in the future." The Witcher said.

"They will be happy just to see you wear them, your favour for armour is well known." Rodrick found he liked this new Herian much more than the one that had left Winterfell.

Colour tried to warm the elfs frost bitten cheeks. "Should I worry about what else has become known of me?"

Rodrick waved a hand dismissively. "Only good things I assure you."

"Ser, you wanted to aid me with the forge this morn?" Mikken said.

"Ah yes, that chestplate needs finishing." Ser Rodrick nodded to the blacksmith.

Herian couldn't help herself. "May I watch? I never learned to work a forge but I have always loved to watch smiths at work."

Mikken nodded. "I don't see the harm."

"I think I shall go find some breakfast." Jon said nodded to his teacher. "Gage will be up by now."

"I will see you later then." Herian said, and watched as Jon walked from the field, she smiled he had a Witchers walk now.

The three of them soon had the forge burning hot, Herian had removed her gloves and rolled up her sleeves so she could get closer to the heat.

Ser Rodrick and Mikken talked between themselves, but Herian was quite happy to watch the metal start to glow and change. When a clump of iron broke in two, and Mikken looked to discard it, Herian reached into the heat and picked up the red hot lump.

Mikken was not a man prone to outburst, so he watched the Dunmer roll the lump of iron into a ball, then smush it into a square.

Herian was trying to decide what to make out of the steel, it was no bigger than her cupped hands. A broach? Na, boring. She rolled it around and round till it was as smooth as a babies bottom.

Inspiration struck. She smushed it again and put one edge between her teeth and pulled. With the metal still in her mouth she turned and pull the piece till a curving neck had been made. Then she smoothed the 'back' of the piece down, then pulled on the next corner till she had formed a 'tail'. She did the same thing with the two remaining corners, but took more than just the corner in her mouth when she pulled then bite the pieces in half.

Ser Rodrick looked up at the elf when he noticed Mikkens attention was drawn. The candle was on thing, playing with a molten piece of metal was another. By this time the metal had started to cool and she put it back in the embers. He looked at the piece, it wasn't hard to see that she was making a wolf.

Mikken pulled the chest plate he had been working on out of the flames and set to pounding it into shape.

By the time the metal plate was too cool to work, Herian's piece was glowing again. She fetched it out of the flames and set about giving her wolf some features. She pushed the metal around with her thumbs till her wolf had a nice front end, it was still smooth but it was taking on the features. It need to be heated again before she would finish forming the back.

Both smiths worked on and off, back and forth, taking turns watching the other, while Rodrick had pulled up a stool to watch both.

They both worked for hours, the sun had only just crested the horizon by the time Herian was satisfied with her shape. Then she surprised both men but first using her nails to draw fur into the wolf, then her teeth for finer detail. She would suck on the metal to raise it to fix an error, over and over she would do this. Til the wolf was covered in a fine fur coat, the detail she managed made Rodrick glad the figure was so small.

In the end, Mikken had finished the plate and moved on to horse shoes before she was through. The end product was a walking wolf with near perfect detail, she had used her tongue to create a flow of lines, her pinky to carve foot pads and lips. The sun was full up and the castle was waking to break is fast.

"Who do you think?" Herian asked speaking for the first time since she had sat to play with the metal. Holding up the still glowing wolf figure.

Mikken nodded at his bucket.

Herian got up and cupping her figurine carefully quenched it, then walked back over to the forge to dry her hands and the wolf.

"Rickon." Rodrick said after some serious consideration. "It looks rather like Shaggy Dog."

"Rickon then." Herian rolled down her sleeves and pulled on her gloves. "Do you need to break your fast?" She asked the two elder men.

Rodrick spoke for them both. "We ate before coming out."

Herian nodded. "Thank you." she said to Mikken.

The man spoke up gruffly. "I am getting a shipment of gold and silver in a few days. You are welcome to come and work with it."

The elf beamed. "Thank you." she said with less politeness and considerably more warmth.

When she entered the great all the Starks had started on breakfast and were happy talking about the coming day.

Herian smiled a greeting at Ned then slipped silently around to Rickon offering the wolf to his right side as he ate.

The boy instantly grabbed it. "Shaggy Dog!" He shouted, causing his direwolf to raise its head, then it shook its massive head once he saw his partner.

Eddard smiled and let out a small chuckle. "That explains where you have been. What do you say Rickon?"

The small boy turned his head up to the elf and giggled happy. "Thank you." He launched himself at her neck and hugged tight.

Herian hugged the boy carefully back. "You are very welcome."

Rickon let go and put the wolf at a place of honour above his bowl of porridge.

The elf took her place beside Ayra.

After helping herself to her own meal, Eddard asked. "So what brought you to Mikken's smithy?"

"Jon and I were sparring this morning, Rodrick and Mikken happened upon us." She shrugged. "I happen to have a soft spot for forges. He was doing to discard that piece so he let me play with it."

For some reason when Herian said the world 'play' the imagine of a cat with a ball of yarn came to Neds mind. "Very generous of Mikken."

"He offered to let me play with his gold and silver shipment." Herian tucked into her honeyed porridge and black bread.

"Can I have a wolf as well?" Sansa asked. "I'd love to have a sculpture of Lady."

Herian shrugged. "I don't see why not, it will give me something to do with my mornings."

Ned had difficulty sleeping that last night, he was not used to the quiet. Like Herian he had grown used to another life in the same room, the sudden silence was deafening.

Maester Luwin shuffled slowly into the hall a letter clutched in his hand.

"A raven my Lord. From Kings Landing." Reluctantly Ned broke the seal and read. He slumped back into his weirwood chair and pressed a hand to his temples.

"Father?" Robb asked.

"Robert has abdicated. Stannis and Renly are warring with each other and Robert refuses to name either heir. He is coming back here, though alone." Ned could feel a headache coming on.

Herian chewed that information over with her food. Robert coming up, could be any number of things, mostly like he'd come with an apology on his lips. She didn't frankly care who held Kings Landing, she had a feeling that whoever won would be better than Robert. "What does that mean for us?"

"Not much yet. Once the Baratheons sort out who will sit on the throne. The King will likely come north again, to summon all the northern lords to have them swear fealty. Whoever it is might just settle for me, but one can never know." Eddard said, thinking on the mess that would become.

Herian rubbed her temples. "That sounds, like a massive headache."

"It will be." Ned said.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and when everyone was almost done.

Herian played with her spoon for a moment. "So, uh. My Thane, uhh. My brother wants to come visit, Harimand."

"He can do that?" Eddard asked, raising a brow.

"Aye, he rather enjoys shitting on the usual laws of multidimensional travel. Unlike my Grandmother he is of a lesser power that allows him to visit a relatively low magic world, such as this one. I will be acting as anchor, and it will probably only be for day. I'd appreciate it if you would allow him to come."

"Of course, when will he come?" Ned asked.

"As soon as I say he can, so I will visit the place of power after breakfast and summon him." A finger went up to touch the moon-and-star around her throat.

"I look forward to meeting him." It was only one day, one man, what harm could he do?

Herian got up and gave the Stark a quick bow before walking out of the hall, only just not running.

Eddard smiled when a high pitched squeal of delight reached his ears.

Herian coughed and blushed. Ran to her room and changed into her Daedric armour, before making her way out of Winterfell, everyone would say she was on a warpath. With the biggest grin they had ever seen plastered on her face.

Jon caught up to her at the north gate. "Do you want me to come?"

Herian shook her head. "Its been years since I saw Harry. If tradition holds, having no one near by will be wise."

"What's the tradition?" Jon asked.

Herian grinned.

"I will warn father." The teen ran off and as soon as Herian was out of the main gate she picked up her feet and ran. The snow could go fuck itself.

When she thought about it she released this was the first time she had been without human company in sometime. "HAHAH!" She raced over the snow a black and red streak, arms and legs pumping away.

She only slowed when the place of power came into view. Reaching out she set out a large spike of magic.

CRACK! The place of power opened bright blue energy slipping over the elf, she felt super charged.

Grinning she shouted out, gripping her amulet. "HARIMAND!" She grinned evilly. "Come to me." She grabbed the power of the place and shoved it through the amulet with the image of her surroundings.

WOOOSH BOOOOOOOMMM! A great portal opened right in the place of power, a huge vortex of black and orange energy.

Harimand Indoril walked though, gold cat eyes, white locks, sharp thin features, black Witcher armour, blades on his back, wand strapped to his leg.

Herian ripped off a glove and bit her wrist letting blood pour down to stain the snow red. "By the power of my blood, my dragon soul, I tether my essence to yours and anchor you too this realm."

Harimand bit down on his wrist, stepped to her and pressed his bleeding wrist to her. "By the Greater Laws, I am bound."

The portal snapped shut with a CRACK, and the place of power faded, its energy used.

The two stared at each other for one long moment then Herian through her arms around the Witcher. "HARRY!"

Harry wrapped his arms around her in a near bone crunching hug. "Missed you little sister." He smiled lovingly closing his eyes and pressing his face into her wild red mane.

The elf snuggled her face into his neck and squeezed. "We never should have parted."

"We both needed a change." He pulled away. "Come on, we have the tradition to uphold, and I don't want to wreck this lovely piece of wilderness." He pulled out his wand and casted a warming charm on himself then on her.

"There is a great big empty fields just outside of wintertown. No one will mind if we tear them up, plus the snow will help with the damage." She smiled.

They pulled on their gloves and set off at brisk pace.

"Oh? Feeling cocky? From Mothers letters you are probably out of practice. Did you ever get anywhere with your Diresinging? Or did you fail to expand your magicka pool?" Harry grinned, just by looking at her, he knew she hadn't practiced in years.

"I may of given up on becoming a Diresinger, I am a Witcher. That is enough for me." The Witcheress said with a smile.  
"You say that now, after I beat you to a pulp you will be begging for lessons again." This was a very old conversation.

"Plead yes, maybe grovel a bit. But never beg!" Herian punched Harry lightly in the shoulder.

"That is not what I remember." Harry said with a smirk.

Herian grinned and picked up the pace to a run, the Witcher ran alongside her. It quickly became a game of who could cover the most ground the fastest in the most flashy manner.

The Dunmer had the advantage of knowing the way, but Harry had the easy flexible manner of a drunken master. He danced more than he ran, even after they came out into the fields below Winterfell they ran for a minute more.

Herian threw the first punch, it soared through the empty air.

Harry leaned back out of the way, as they sliding to a hail dancing jabs careless thrown.

Eventually they stood facing each other, breathing heavily and smiling huge grins.

"Rules?" Harry asked.

"None." Herian purred flicking her wrists for the onslaught of Signs she knew she was about to cast.

Harry drew his wand from his leg and decided to start with a bang. "BOMBARDA!" He roared blasting the spell straight into Herians chest with an air cracking BOOM!

The elf soared through the air like a rocket, she landed tumbled, reached out a hand, sank it into the ground and brew four long strips into the ground. Her armours enchantments flared to life.

The huge BOOM cause most all of Winterfell to stop what they were doing. Ned had to fight a way to the wall to see to fight, that just close enough to be clear. He install recognized the two, the Witchers were having a party, the snow as mixed with dirt, great trenches from where they landed from blows of the other.

Herian shot forward like lighting. The Witchers battled ranged over all, coming dangerously close to Wintertown.

"Impedimenta!" Harry shouted.

Herian snapped her hand forward forming the QUEN shield, racing towards him for another swipe.

"Sectumsempra!" The Witcher roared and throw a fireball, with his left hand after the spell.

CRASH. Herian Quen fell and she rolled out of way, and slammed her fist into the ground with an ARD.

The Ard was massive sending snow, ice and Harry flying well over twenty meters.

Harry laughed, picking himself up and dusting off. "That is more like it sister!"

Herian flashed him smile and panted. Magic, whatever the form really took out of her.

Harry walked over to her with a cocky sway, twirling his wand. "But seriously, you can't touch me and you are so out of practice. "Fiendfyre." His wand snapped out to her, a great roaring snake leaping from it, all the snow around them instantly melted and the grass underneath caught fire.

The elf threw herself to the ground a forge was one thing, Fiendfyre was a totally different.

Harry raised his wand reeling the snake in float about him.

Herian sprung back to her feet and planted them, taking deep breaths, there was only one magic she had that could truely combat Harry.

With flick of the wand Harry sent his serpent at the elf.

The Dragonborn stood tall and slammed her fist into her palm. "DOVAH SIL SPAAN!" A huge golden shield, the shape of dragon wings, tethered loosely to her back, raised between her and Harry.

His serpent slammed into them and Herian almost fell, the serpent split in two to surround her.

"FUS!" she roared snapping her arms out behind her. The great soul wings, whipped around against a huge gust of air, destroying Harrys snake.

The Witcher smiled and whispered. "There is my sister."

Herian blazed with power, her eyes glowing dragon soul energy. Her hair writhing around her, like a great wild fire, her jaw was set and her eyes as steely as the Nerevarine herself.

With a roll of her shoulders the huge wings came to a resting position, she raised a hand and gave a 'come and get me gesture'.

Harry let out a jubilant laugh, and raised his wand straight up. "Cessekem sehttayemohtrohtmeth!" The words were unwieldy but the effect was instant.

The temperature dropped all the way to Winterfell and sky started to swirl above Harry, the clouds thickened to massive black monsters and it started to hail. Thankfully just down on Harian who raised her wings to shield herself, sinking to the ground as the wind picked up to a clothes shredding speeds. "I should have know he was just dicking around with the fiendfyre." She muttered under breath, digger her claws into the ground bracing herself against the storm. "Not my element." she grumbled.

Harry knew she could beat this, she just had to dig deep and do it. Raising his voice he shouted. "Mehtayemekemlyasehttayemohtmeht!"

"SHIT!" Herian cried.

The hail became the huge pieces of ice over a meter long and a third that wide. Harry lowered his wand to focus on his sister.

The ice rained down on her wings, Herian could feel the shout failing, but did she have enough left in her for something bigger? "MUL QAH DIIV!" She felt her soul rush out to protect her, left the gold dragon scale soul armour cover herself. She rose defiantly and shouted again. "MID VUR SHAAN!" Then fired forward, her wings propelling her along with dragonic speed.

Harry dodged his wand moving in quick flashing arcs, focused shielding spells protecting him from her slicing claws.

Jon couldn't believe what he was seeing, this was her family was capable of? She had once said she was the least of her family, he could barely see through the maelstrom that Harimand had created. But the gold dragon was unmistakable, a great ear splitting roar filled the air. "TOOR SHUL SU!"

A great wave of fire blasted out from the Dragonborn, Harry only just got his shield up in time, but he added another huge long trenched to the field.

Herian raised her head to the sky, at the moment's reprieve. "Lok Vah Koor." A wave of energy went up into the sky, the hail stopped falling and the sky cleared. She turned her gaze on her fallen brother.

Harimand picked himself up laughing. "You still suck at magic sister, but know I remember why you were called to fight in the Rangers."

The elf smiled and with a great sigh raising her arms up into the air, let her dragon go. Golden energy wisped up into the sky in great weaving arcs. She let her knees give out and fell to the ground.

Harry jogged over, and put an arm under hers. "I have a number of books for you in my pockets, as well a few very nice soul gems. Diagrams and supplies for your smith, that apprentice of your needs armour." He heaved her to her feet and started walking up towards Winterfell. "Seeing as he will never be a potions boy, I brought everything for the Bear School."

"Good thinking." Herian almost whispered and rubbed her throat. "Now I remember why I don't use shouts casually."

"Just get better at normal magics."

"Easy for you to say, wizard." She grumbled out and poked him in the stomach.

Harry laughed. "Hey! We both know that wizards is just shortened from 'wise-arse', no need to call me that."

Herian snorted back laughter. "But you are one!"

"That I will not deny."

"So did I win?" Herian asked hopefully.

"Considering I could beat you in over a hundred ways right now? No, nice finale, but no." Harimand kissed her temple.

"Damn, well it couldn't hurt to hope." Herian shrugged.

"I brought some of The Gauntlet too."

"Oooohh, now you are after my heart." They were almost at the main gate and Herian was walking on her own.

Harry chuckled. "More like your liver."

Jon was the first to get to them. "That was amazing!"

The two witchers chuckled together.

"Quite the show." Eddard said, watching the two of them, they were completely at ease. He was almost tempted to say there were one soul sharing two bodies. He felt a bit back for the sorry farmer that had to work that field come a thaw, but he would send men to help.

"Will I learn to do that?" Jon asked.

"Not from me." Herian tapped Harry on the arm. "He is the magic one."

"I'm still worken on her." Harimand said.

Herian rolled her eyes. "Can I have my rings please? Harry brought some spirit that I don't dare have at without them."

"Oh sorry of course." Jon pulled the rings she had lent him off and gave them back.

Herian put the rings back one. "My Thane as you know this is Harimand, Harry this is Lord Eddard Stark."

Harry offered his hand to the Stark and they clasped arms and shook. "Nice to meet the man that has got my sisters knickers in a twist."

Herian fought not to blush. "Harry." she scolded.

"She speaks highly of you, and I see none of it is exaggerated." Eddard instantly liked this Harry, the memory was one thing, the man before him another.

"Herian always exaggerates." Harry said with a grin.

"I do not! I haven't even mentioned the giant incident." Herian grabbed his arm. "Now come on, I think the Burned Tower is an excellent place to have at The Gauntlet."

Harry mock resisted. "But I'm not finished!"

"Oh yes you are, I don't need you corrupting them." Herian could see what Harry wanted to say a mile away.

"Aww." Harry said but whipped out his wand and wrote magickally and silently.

" _Shhh, I shall corrupt you. I wrote her a letter yesterday, it's probably under her pillow. Do have a nice long read."_

"Alright lead the way sister mine."

In the end they found themselves sitting with their legs hanging out over the edge of a breached wall. Drinking themselves stupid.

Herian coughed. "Wow. I forgot how much kick The Gauntlet had, but this is different you use a different spirit?"

Harry took a deep drink from the heavy wine skin and past it back. "Yup, rather than Malkivain vodka, White Wolf straight from Geralts vineyards."

The elf paused in raising their first skin to her lips and whistled. "How did you manage that?"

"Mixed Geralt up a batch too of course. I think he is letting it age in his cellar." Harry took a huge bite out of a loaf of bread.

Herian took a long pull and said. "Now that would be some good stuff!" She took another pull and traded him for the bread. "So how is the family?" She tore a chunk off with her teeth and chewed.

"Keria is spending more time in the Imperial City, mostly keepen an eye on things I think. Chani is finally expecting, Severus is so happy were he not so dignified, I think he would be bouncing off the walls. Korta, is being well Korta." He took a long drink.

"Breaking hearts, thieving and fighting?"

"Pretty much. Ciri is mostly stayen in Toussiant with Geralt. I think Avallac'h is trying to court her." Another drink.

"Has he finally gotten into his head that Ciri is not Lora?" She asked.

"I think so, I do admit, I wonder what their kids would be like. Elder Blood and all that."

"Then he might have a chance." They traded items again. "Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel, Ghani, Irulan?"

"Vesemir mostly stays in Kaer Morhen, training new pups. Lambert and Keira, roam the world, but I think Keira wants to settle. She got filthy rich off of her cure to the catriona plague. Eskel is just being Eskel, doing what he does best. Ghani has gotten it so only three out of ten die in the mutations. We actually get to be picky with recruits now. Iralan is doing the horizontal tango with Regis down in Nilfgaard." Harry leaned back and stared out into the darken sky, and took a drink. He pulled out his wand and lazy renewed the warming charms on the two of them.

"Regis and Irulan?" Herian sat stupefied for a moment then frowned. "On second thought."

"They are well matched. Irulan has many of Ghani's traits, including her immortality. The daughter of the great Geralt of Riva and the Higher Vampire Regis. I think Dandelion is composing a ballad about them as we speak." They traded again.

Herian took several long pulls, the booze was starting to get to her. "You'd think by now Dandelion would be looking for new people to write about."

"Apparently we are just too interesting. I think I heard one about you the other day." Harry hiccupped.

The elf raised her hand in a stopping gesture. "Don't. I really don't want to know."

It was too late, Harry staggered to his feet and took a swing and started to sing horribly off key.

:"The Warrior Maiden!

A mane of the richest red,

Causes mens hearts to fill with dread!

For the warrior maiden,

Is fierce and fine!

But she will chop off, your behind!

Blades of silver and steel,

Ride upon this maiden.

But men store your pricks away!

For you shall never ride this maiden!

She'll chop you, and slice you.

Eat you up whole!

The warrior maiden has a heart of ice,

That no hearth can thaw.

Only blades melt her steel,

So men be wary,

And do not tarry.

Linger too long, and the maiden.

Will eat you up!":

"Charming, last I checked Dandelion had higher standards." She scowled at Harry.

"I learned this other one while I was writing your letter!" Another swing. "Roses are red, lemons are sour. Open ur legs and give me an hour!"

"Okay enough, give that here. I am not near drunk enough for this conversation." Though she was pleasantly buzzed.

Harimand gave her the wine skin and sat back down.

Herian took several long drinks, all they need was a fire and this would be just like the old days.

"So Grandmother?"

Harry looked out again, the sun had set. "More god, less mother."

Silence filled the pair and Herian drank till she was drunk. "HICK! Okay now I am drunk enough." she coughed and gave the wine skin back.

:"Sex is good,

Sex is fine.

Doggy style and sixty-nine.

Just for fun.

Or gettin paid,

Everybody likes getting laid.

Sex is evil

Sex is sin

Sins are forgiven

So stick it in!

Roses are nice

Violets are fine.

I'll be the six,

If you'll be the nine.":

Harry howled with laughter. "I will have to tell that one to Violeta. Where'd you hear it?"

"A city down south, *hic* one night exploren." she slurred.

"Oh I got this great one from Vizima!" Harry grinned, took a sip of booze and gave it back.

:"Roses are red, nuts are brown, skirts go Up, pants go down.

Body to body, skin to skin, when it's stiff, stick it in!

The longer its in, the stronger it gets.

It goes in dry, comes out wet.

It comes out dripping, and starts to sag.

It's not what you think!

… It's a teabag!":

Herian snorted and took another pull. "I can so see the nobles singing that. All stiff in their doublets and velvets." she drained the last of the spirit and looked over at the chest Harry had given her. "Thats for the resupply, when Jon is done growing I'll have the armour made."

"I put extras of everything, in cause your smithy need to practice."

"Good idea, oh could you do your funny world thing." Herian waved her hand drunkenly.

"Sure." He pulled out his wand and drew a small circle between them saying. "Webohtrohtlyrdohtseht mehtayempayem."

The circle grew near half a meter wide, with dozens of worlds at different rings within it. Harry looked it for a moment and pointed a world toward the middle. "Here's me."

He pointed at one near the bottom above a white world. "Here is you." He looked at the world below. "Be thankful Ciri killed the White frost, or you would be in a very bad short life." He looked over the chart. "And here is Nirn." Nirn was near overlapping with Herian's current world.

"Well shit." she muttered.

"Sorry sister, you're already mixed up in a Conjugation of Spheres." Harry had a great deal of sympathy for that.

"Your mixed in it too." Herian pointed. "Stuff is probably already slippen through."

Harry reviewed the chart again. "Yeah you're right, but with Ciri around things won't get too bad. Though it will probably make visiting easier. Give it a year or two and mother will be able to come see you."

"Well from what I have figured out this planet has an elliptical orbit, I think the sun burns away the magic but with the coming Winter."

"If it really is elliptical…"

"Winter is gonna be nasty, more magic to the land and a Conjugation of spheres, at the same time." Herian finished his sentence.

In response Harry pulled a fresh wine skin from one of his endless pockets, popped off the top and took a long swing. "I could take you home." He waved his wand and the projection vanished.

The offer was obligatory.

Herian shook her hand and took the wine skin. "No, I gave Ned my word I would protect him. And with Jon I am invested now, leaving this world to its fate would be a mistake I am not prepared to live with."

"Oh so it's your word that keeps you here. I know what you think of honour sister mine." Harimand smirked knowingly at her.

The elf took a drink and looked out the wall.

"Oh come on." Harry ate a large chunk of bread. "Details!"

"There is nothing to give details on!" Herian shot back and took a drink. "Just some touching and kisses." she muttered.

"You know what touching and kisses leads too." Harry said, they swapped foods stuffs.

"There hasn't been that much, he's just melted my brain a few times." Just thinking back to it made her tingle.

Harimand smiled and took a drink. "Sounds like love to me."

"What would you know about that? You'll fuck anything with the right bits in the right places." Herian looked over to him sharpy.

"I happen to love Violeta, thank you very much." Harry purred.

"The succubus?"

"Aye, the very one! She is quite lovely, with none of the faults of human women." Harry leaned back and smiled at her memory.

"She just has horns and goat legs." Herian understood why Harry of all people would fall in love with a succubus.

"And an easy smile, lovely tits and is one of the nicest succubuses I have meant. As long as I clean my armour and myself regularly. She is quite happy to have me around." They traded items again.

Herian was about to mention why succubuses kept men around, but thought better of it. Harry knew what he was doing. "Alright." she took a drink.

"Oh before we get too hammered to count." He pulled two Gwent decks out of his pockets. "I brought your Skellige deck, I thought we could have a game."

"You're on!" Herian leaped up and grabbed her deck to start shuffling.

After they drew their hands and flipped a coin. Herian went first, putting down a Clan an Craite warrior, causing her front line to raise to six. "So any interesting contracts?"

Harry put down the Brewess, Lady of the woods and fished out her sisters from his draw deck, his front line totalled eighteen. "Well paying yes, interesting less so. There has been a rise in Draconids, but not much in the way of curse breaking."

Herian glared at the Ladies of the woods cards, and put a War Longship in her back row, raising it to six. "Better than drowners, at least Draconid heads fetch a nice price."

Harry put Imlerith down, raising his front row to twenty eight. "Still it gets a bit dull, I would really go for a good curse right now."

The elf played Avallac'h and drew another war longship and Olaf. "Still count yourself lucky, a leshen is the only thing I've got to fight. Though it was easy twice the size of normal, more like an Ent."

The Witcher played a Vampire Bruxa, and pulled the four companion cards from his deck. Now his front line was forty nine. "Well that is interesting? Was it bound to a person or a totem?"

"Totem." She put down her new war longship, her back row was boosted to twenty four.

"Dull but easy." Harry played a Torrential rain card.

Herian back row was reduced to twelve. "Besides being boring, I am enjoying easy right now. Especially seeing as it won't last." She played a commander's horn, raising her back row back to twenty four.

Harimand played a Fiend, raising his front row to fifty five. "I'll keep you supplied for now, but if you're lucky enough of what comes over will be familiar enough for potions."

Slightly smugly, the elf played a Biting frost.

Harry's front row was reduced to nineteen. With a frown he played his Kayran, bringing his total up to Herians one of thirty.

"I do rather hope that, my savings will be gone if I keep having to ask for supplies." She played Hjalmar in her middle row, raising her total to forty.

The Witcher used his commanders card, doubling his front line, raising his totally to forty six. "Did you harvest from the Leshen?"

"Yeah, would have been stupid not too." She played her Olaf and her total raised to forty four.

Harry glared at her and played his Leshen, his totally raised to fifty six.

"I fold." Herian said, saving her few cards for the next round.

"One win for me." The ashen haired witcher said, though he only had three cards left, but then do did Herian.

Harry opened with his Archas behemoth in his back row, then drew the other archas from his deck. He totalled ten.

No poker face need here. Herian played her Yennefer of Vengerberg and returned her Olaf to the front line. She smiled at her total of nineteen.

Harry snapped down his commanders horn on his back row raising it to twelve and his totally to eighteen. "Damn. You got me."

For the last round Herian finally played her Cerys and all her shield maidens from her deck, totalling twenty two.

Harry played is Daugr of ten. "Good game." He gathered up his cards.

"I got lucky, you know how hard Skellige decks can be." No longer having to be able to count, Herian took a long pull on the wine skin and past it over.

Harry took a drink. "You know people get awfully bored in the winter time, maybe you could teach them Gwent."

"It would be a bit hard with one deck," she took the skin back and took a pull. "But between the stories, histories and houses. I am sure once people get the rules down, more could be made."

The wine skin changed hands again. "Then you have a little bit of home here. And new people to test yourself against." Harimand gave it a shake and took a swing, then felt the familiar tug of magic at his belly. "It seems my time is up. And don't worry about supplies, I can keep sending you gear and potions, I won't have you dieing because you ran out of Shallow."

"Harry~."

"No I insist, it's no trouble." Harry put the sack down on the chest he had pulled form a pocket when the arrived.

"Alright."

The pair rose and hugged.

"We'll do this again sometime soon." Herian said.

"Aye, maybe I'll bring your dad and we can all have it out. Watching you dragonborns go at it is always fun." Harry kissed her forehead and faded away.

Herian sighed, she really hated the rules sometimes. She wouldn't be able to summon Harry again for months, the place of power was drained and so was she. The Witcheress would be amazed if she managed to summon up a simple healing spell.

Kneeling down she picked up the chest, stuffed the last of the bread in her mouth and grabbed last wineskin and drained it on one go. After a brief wobble she started down the tower, but the time she got to the bottom. Dinner had long since past and she went straight to her room.

With a bit of difficulty she managed to get her door open and set the chest down by her bookshelf.

"Had fun?"

"YIPE!" She leaped skyward, and then fell on her rump.

Eddard laughed, walked over and helped her up. He could smell the alcohol on her. "You alright?"

"My dignity is a bit bruised, but it will recover." She have him a big silly smile, she leaned into him and tucked her head under his chin. Her speech slurred. "Your big, and warm," she nuzzled his neck "you smell good too."

Ned wrapped his arms around her. "And you are very drunk."

She pulled away smiling again. "The Gauntlet is very good at that. *hic* Its equal parts white gull and spiritsss." She yawned.

"I think its past time you went to bed." He smiled, she was adorable.

"Naaa." She snuggled back against him. "I don'ta wanna!" she started to purr softly.

It made Neds chest warm, so she was a cuddly drunk. Carefully but suddenly he scooped her up.

"Don't! Put me down!" She tired to fight for a moment but flopped against his chest almost instantly.

Ned chuckled and carried her over to her bed and set her on the covers, only to find she would not let him go, her arms around his neck.

"Don't goo! I'll be good!" She sniffed, in her drunken state the mere thought of him leaving moved her to tears.

Ned kissed her cheek. "I am not going anywhere, but you shall be terribly uncomfortable to sleep in you armour." His hands started undoing buckles and straps.

"Okay~" she started to help him.

Between the two of them the Daedric found its way onto the floor, but before Ned could escape she grabbed him again. Throwing herself around him.

Had anyone come in they would have hurt themselves laughing. The Great Lord of the North, had an elf stuck to him. He was fully dressed, she just in her small clothes, her legs locked around his hips, arms around his neck.

"She is very light." Ned thought looking down at the purring elf, she pressed a sloppy kiss to his neck. Aloud he said. "Herian you must go to bed."

"I'm not tired." she muttered against his neck, and rubbed her cheek against his. Then gave it a kiss, purring all the while. "Besides, bed is cold, you are warm."

Ned was at a loss for how to get her to let go, so instead he kicked off his boots and took off his cloak. Carefully he sat on the side of her bed, and slowly laid down. Herian moved her legs so they wouldn't get crushed. Ned threw the furs over them.

Herian let go of his neck and snugged her face into his broad chest.

The room was dark, he had been about to light a fire when she had entered. He watched her get comfy and waited till her breath evened out.

When the elf was fast asleep, he very carefully picked her up and set her beside him. As smoothly and quietly as he could, he rose from the bed and pulled his boots and cloak back one. He retrieved the fat letter, Harry had told him about and slipped away. Ned was curious, Herian's brother wouldn't have mentioned it if he hadn't wanted it read. He would return it when she went for breakfast, probably very late in the morning, or early afternoon.

 **I wanted a bit more light stuff before things got serous again, so I moved up my time table on Harimads visit. We originally planned to kill off Robert, but I got my hands on the book A game of Thrones and his characterization there saved his life here. Don't forget that poll people! Fifteen people is not a consensus! Also the Archive of Our own version of the last chapter has a large sectioned added to the hot springs scene. Just so those who care know. Thank you for your reviews and please review.**


	21. Chapter 21

**So I gave up resisting, you have smut! With rather a lot of heavy characterization and sexpostition. :P Though shorter and less detailed then I usually like to do, but fanfiction has burned me before because I *gasp* prefer realistic sex scenes! I just can't right the fantasy silliness without thinking "ow, ow".**

 **I shall be leaving that poll up, consider this instinctive to make your wishes known. If lots of people chime in I might risk removing my last few filters for this story, cause then hopefully. Fanfiction won't burn me and pull the story.**

 **In other news, I have another job and school so chapters might slow up for a while. Good news though, we are at our 80th review! If the 100th person wishes for a one shot, I will do my best to accommodate. So with that we are back to regular scheduled programing! I only have one other showing of my other stories characters, so for those who found it jarring you shall not have to worry about it for a while again. Though it was in the summary people.**

Roberts Return

Herian awoke with a groan. "Plough me sideways." she rolled over on to her front to hide from the sunshine piercing her room. Her head was pounding and she needed to piss, it was the latter that motivated her out of her bed to the privy.

On the way out after a much needed teeth cleaning she shielded her eyes from the sun. A thaw had set it, no doubt thanks to her sending the clouds away yesterday. By the height of the sun she guessed it was around noon. "Fuck." she hissed and stumbled towards the clothes she had discarded yesterday, pulling them slowly on. Then putting her Daedric armour away before she stubbed her toes on it.

She picked her way through the halls, hands trailing against the walls as she stumbled around. Sure enough lunch was just concluding by the time she made it to the great hall. Ned was talking with Jory, Sansa was delighted that the rest of their things and people had arrived from Kings Landing.

Eddard caught sight of the squinting elf and smiled, Harmiands letter had been a bit shocking, but very informative. He would be sure to pass it around to his boys when they were a bit older, and when Herian wouldn't miss it.

Herian approached her lord and tried to give him a smile but winced at a reflection of sun from a plate.

Feeling sympathetic Ned put himself between him and the reflection. "Having a nice morning? Or should I say afternoon?" He spoke louder than necessary.

The elf tried to glare at him, walked up to him, then the light hit her face again. With a groan she let her head fall into the middle of his chest. "Kill me now."

"And loose you demanding to be cuddled? Never!" A grin broke over Neds face, she really had been too cute last night.

Herian groaned louder and pretended Jory, Sansa and a good chunk of the kitchen staff weren't there.

Ned patted her on the back. "There, there, you didn't sing naked on the rampants or anything like that. You kept your antics to your room."

"Dare I ask what I did?" she grumbled into his chest.

"Said many flattering things, gave me quite a few kisses and you were determined to have me in your bed."

Jory Cassel laughed and turned it into a cough.

"Where might I find a crossbow? I am feeling the sudden need to shoot myself." She rested her hands on Neds belt, without so sort of grounding she was sure she would die of embarrassment. That and her head was pounding, putting her hands on the very stable man, was probably a very good idea. The last thing she needed was for everyone to see how horribly unbalanced she was.

Ned bit back a laugh, nearly joining in with Jory. It was hard not to let loose a bellow of chuckles, but after what she had done? It would have been a bit rude to laugh in the face of her embarrassment. His children were doing enough of that as it was.

Course, that didn't keep a smile off his face.

"Come now, no need to be so dramatic." he mused, "You knew there would be time for regret later. So I'd say just get it over with. You certainly could have done worse."

The cheeky smirk he had spoke volumes more than what the Stark's words had, but he couldn't find the urge to care in him. Not even the glare Herian shot him could wipe it away. Her gaze could have felt like a dozen hot daggers plunging themselves into the center of his forehead and yet the man's expression would not falter, not a bit.

"Fuck me." she muttered and let her head thud back against Neds chest. Quietly thankful for all the layers between, it made his chest softer. She could have done much worse, though she did remember pouncing on him nude. Unfortunately she didn't remember much after that. Talking was a hard painful thing, she desperately wanted to go back to bed. Hide from the world for a little while longer, she breathed deeply and purred. There was that lovely scent that she had awoken too. It stirred up more fuzzy recollections. "At least I am not wearing Sansa clothes." She muttered. Nope waking up in Ghanis' clothes once was more then enough of dresses for her.

Ned chuckled, "Now that, is something we can both agree on."

Looking out from where the two were, Ned could only imagine the sheer reaction if Herian had stumbled out whilst wearing his daughter's attire. Poor Jory would likely be on the ground, holding his sides as he laughed the night away. Of course, that might have been better that coughing up a storm due to his drink going down the wrong pipe but Ned wasn't too sure. There was only so much a man could take before he collapses out of his chair with his lungs already half empty.

Then of course, there would be his children. How would they have reacted to such a sight, especially Sansa herself. If Herian had been caught in that, Ned was sure he would not have seen her for at least a week or so. It was her after all. If the Witcher did not want to be found and had a damn good reason for it, then she wouldn't be for several days. Perhaps a bit of food would be needed to draw her out? He wasn't sure and gave the matter little thought.

After all, this was far more amusing anyway.

Herian pulled away, her head was pounding too loudly for her ears to work right. "You are enjoying this far to much." She did remember him picking her up and she was pretty sure she kissed him a far bit. Seeing as she had, as far as she was concerned a good excuse.

She moved a hand grabbed his collar and pulled him down. Laying a quick sober kiss on his lips this time, let him go put her hands on her hips and said. "I am hung over, that is my excuse I am sticking to it!" She then tried to go around him, only to stumble as her balance decided to desert her.

Ned reached up and held his arms out in case they were needed. The sudden and rather sloppy kiss had caught the Stark off guard, though not for long. He smirked at her sharp tone and how the elf had tried to stand without his help. Out of everything he could have seen, Ned wasn't sure if he had ever expected to see her in such a condition. With how she held herself normally, it might have been rather off putting indeed for such a sudden change.

Though given the time he had spent in King's Landing, the matter of hangovers wasn't much of a surprise to the Lord. The matter who had been doing it was, of course, but that was neither here nor there at the moment.

"Fine, fine. Fair enough." he mused, "If you're so adamant on what had happened, then who am I to stop you from stumbling off?"

Ned suddenly smirked, "Just do be careful. The last thing one would need is to be bumping off walls and tripping over carpets due to a mere hangover."

Herian rounded on the Lord, "I am always-" Her left foot got caught behind her right heel and she fell face first into Eddards waiting arms. "Carefull." she muttered against his tunic. "Dignity, dignity, where aren't thou?"

"I'm rather sure it left some time ago." Ned chuckled, "Might have gone after a pint or two, perhaps even longer. It often does take its leave once it spots wind of some ale."

With the kind of drink they often had, the matter of someone's dignity was almost like a foreign concept in its own right. As he gazed down at her, the Stark could admit that out of all the matters that revolved around drinking too much, Herian might have gotten herself let off rather cleanly with all things considered. Could have been worse.

Though with her laying in his arms, barely able to stand, let alone leave, it was rather difficult for the man to think of a situation that could have been any better. Surely, it was one of the more entertaining after mornings. Certainly, as at least no one else was making a complete and utter fool out of themselves, yet.

"Would you kindly help me to the table? And water, lots and lots of water. Then I think I shall find some dark corner of the Godswood to hide in." She definitely wouldn't protest against a lift, just this time she would refrain from showering his neck in kisses.

Ned smiled. "As you wish." And sweeped her legs out of her in the same manner as last night and chuckled at the undignified yelp that the elf let loose.

Herian wrapped an arm around his shoulder and let her head fall against his collar when Jory let loose another round of side clutching laughter.

"Water and black bread." Ned said to a passing giggling servant girl.

She nodded and raced off to tell the kitchen of events.

Ned set Herian down in her usual spot and almost as soon as he put her down she, she folded her arms on the table and buried her head in them.

Ned sat beside her astride on the bench. "I take it you had a good night then?"

"Aye." Came lowy from the elf.

Eddard smiled, he could only imagine what the two got up too. "What were you drinking?" he asked.

"The Gauntlet. Its White Gull mixed with other spirits." Thud thud thud went her head.

"White Gull?"

"It's a mix of Mandrake Cordial, Redanian Herbal, Cherry Cordial. It's used as a base for most witcher potions."

"So you ingested how many different alcohols?" Ned was beginning to see the picture.

The elf raised four fingers.

"All at once?"

A nod.

"I think you would do Robert proud." The elf really could hold her liquor, most men would be under the table right now.

"Practice, Witcher work can be stressful, there is always at least one party in the winter. The houch flows, and stories are traded, that whole, celebrating living another year thing."

The water and food arrived and Herian attacked the pitcher, pouring it into cup just so she would drink it easier.

Ned let her be till she had downed half of the pitcher and started in on bread. "So you two were up there for a while, did you find out what you wanted?"

Herian nodded and smiled meekly, the water was helping. "Aye, we talked about the family, played Gwent and he cleared up my theories on how I got here."

"Oh?" That had been a lingering question.

"You unlucky sods, are going to be the part of a Conjunction of spheres. I was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time." She didn't really like the dense black bread, but it was filling.

"A what?" Ned did not like where this was going.

"Conjunction of spheres, it's when the worlds come into alignment. Stuff often falls through, that's why on Harimands world there is monsters, most weren't native. Take vampires, they only appeared during a Conjunction, Giants are the same. For all I know, they could have come from here." Herian took another long drink, she was quickly dreading winter.

"Is there a why to stop it?" Ned asked.

Herian shook her head. "This is a naturally occurring one, were it forced, there would be. Ciri would be able to help. But this has been going on for months, maybe years. It won't be over for years yet."

"So our world maybe become a bit more like yours?" That was a frightening idea.

Herian nodded and said after taking another drink. "You've already had a Leshen, a thankfully easy Leshen." She shook her head. "I have no idea, how much you'll get or lose, or how much will awaken with you coming winter. What is native, what's not. We'll just have to wait and see."

Asking Old Nan to retell some of her stories was starting to sound like a very good idea. Ned decided to find time to listen again, the old stories might be the best source of information that they would have.

* * *

Some weeks later found Herian pouting in the middle of Sansa room.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this." Grumbled the elf.

"Oh hush, you look lovely." Sansa added a piece of ribbon to the elfs hair.

"I feel like a doll."

Sansa giggled and ignored the glare her Septa sent her way.

"Father will appreciate it." Sansa employed her not so secret weapon.

The Witcheress pouted but stopped complaining.

Sansa added on last ribbon. "There done!"

The girl had braided Herian wild red mane into two northern braids, one ribbon where the were drawn together at the back of her head, another at the end.

Herian reached up and poked a braid, it did feel very nice and she would feel a breeze around her collar which was a strange thing. "Thank you."

Sansa was about to speak when Bran burst through the door. "Lord Robert is here!"

The girl rose to chase after Bran but Herian caught her wrist and they went to the window instead,

Sure enough the two could see Robert and Eddard in the courtyard, though their greeting was significantly less joyful than at Roberts last visit.

"Who's that with him?" Sansa asked, squinting into the yard.

"Sandor." Herian said with a tight smile.

"The Hound?" Sansa asked her eyes widening. "Why would he come here?"

"Your Father asked me to extend a job offer to him. Either he is here with Robert, or he is here to accept the offer." Ned looked tense and Robert looked chastised. "I think we should let them be for a while."

* * *

The Weirwood tree.

In and around the north, trees and forest were often aplenty. It would be fairly hard to go through the vast countrysides of the frozen lands without seeing some sort of green somewhere. Often the columns of bark made up vast fields of greenery that could go on for miles at a time. It wouldn't be too uncommon for some poor sap to become lost in such a place if they didn't know any better. But inside these mighty patches of wood, there were things that stuck out even among their ancient roots. Trees that looked different than the rest, that seemed less natural and more akin to something found in a tale spoken to a child before bed. They had large, winding branches that reached up to the sky. Each were split off from the main log like tendrils of a massive beast. Yet of all, the leaves were some of the most striking of features these trees possessed. No matter the season, the weather, or anything in between, the leaves were always the color of freshly drawn blood.

In front of such a strange tree, Ned and Robert gazed up at its ashen white surface. Against the chilling breeze, neither spoke. To both men, their time standing next to each other felt like hours, an eternity in some respects. But in truth, it had been mere minutes since their arrival.

As he gazed into one of tree's many 'faces', Robert lowered his head and coughed. The sound broke the Stark's gaze from the tree and turned his head. The Northerner's eyes found the former king, with a gaze calmly focused solely on the dirt beneath their feet.

"Everytime I look at one of these things, I can't help but wonder if at some particular moment, these faces are going to look back at me and say something."

Ned raised a brow and glanced at the tree, "It's hard not to imagine such a thing happening. Sometimes, I could almost mistake one of them with someone else I know." A warm chill passed through the eldest Stark, it took all of his willpower to keep focused on Robert. Not chase down the strange feeling.

"Can be a bit, unsettling, can't it?"

Among the chilling forest, the larger of the two men let out a small chuckle. Robert raised one of his hands and brushed his fingertips across his forehead. The chuckle continued, but not with the same energy or merriment that Ned was so used to. What came out of the man who once lorded over the seven kingdoms felt much like something belonging to a shadow. Some faint echo of a man from long ago, someone who had been snapped out of a long dream quite suddenly. It must have been painful, and far too sudden for any manner of sane men.

Robert ran his hand down the front of his face, "When I look into one of these...things, I can almost feel as if I'm looking into a mirror. It almost makes me feel sick to my stomach."

"Why? Too much to drink, or does your face really seem that revolting?"

Once more, what came next surprised Ned. By all accounts, he half expected the former King to snap at him with a bit of anger. It wouldn't have been too undeserving with what he had just said, but that was Robert for you. For a King, he had never had the best of tempers. Sometimes, Ned wondered if he should have hired someone to help the man with that little issue. Could have done wonders with those decisions he'd snap to whenever his blood began to boil. Might have saved him quite a lot of stress in the process.

Instead of such a reaction though, Robert merely shook his head.

"A tad. Though reminding me of my age is only part of it." he mused, "No. That's not it though."

Robert raised his head and looked toward the closest of the faces he could find. The former King's gaze found its way and met with the carving's very own pair of eyes. Silence swiftly followed for a moment or two, but was quickly broken with yet another sigh.

"One look at these creatures makes me wonder." Robert muttered, "What have they been through? What troubles they had been forced to struggle through? Had they been quick? Long and drawn out? Did they even live past them, or die in some tragic matter that no one soul could have had even the slightest ounce of control over?"

Robert lowered his head. Near his foot was a pebble, barely the size of his thumb. With a narrowed gaze in his eyes, the former king kicked the stone and bounced off one of the roots of the mighty tree.

"Did they spend their last moments regretting their decision in such matters, or did they merely spend it glancing up at a tree and muttering some mad bit of talk?"

Ned raised a brow, yet said nothing. There wasn't much to say anyway. Instead, he stood with his boots on the ground and regarded the former King as he turned away from the tree and shot him a small, if tired look. Since he laid eyes on the larger man, it was a matter the lord couldn't help but notice. Robert looked and acted quite tired. Not the absolute wreck he seemed as back at King's Landing, but a great weight had nestled itself upon the former lord's shoulder like a pair of heavy boulders.

Again, Robert shook his head, "Whatever the case, it doesn't really matter."

"Whatever they had done, I'm sure these poor fools dug their own holes, just as I have." he grumbled, "It is something I'm sure you've been waiting to hear from me though, after everything. I can just feel you trembling with excitement to utter those meager words."

Ned raised a brow, "I'm not sure I know what you mean-"

"Don't."

Like the snap of a twig, Ned stopped. His words fell back down his throat, retreating as Robert cut him off. His tone wasn't sharp or angered through. Much the opposite really. Like the chilling air that surrounded the duo, the former King's words were like a frosty breeze that spilled out from a much more vicious wind.

Robert regarded the Stark with a flat stare, "Since you arrived, I can tell you've been waiting for it. A moment to rub the truth in my face, gloat that I finally saw things past whatever thick piece of wall that I used to block myself off from the truth."

His shoulders sank, "So, if you're going to do it, I'd much rather you do it now and get it over with."

"I think you're confusing me with someone else." Ned noted. That seemed much more in line with a certain elf that was likely hanging out back at the castle. If she had the chance, he was certain she would lay into the old man without a hint of hesitation. Hell, she would be gloating with the top of her lungs. The Stark could practically hear her gleeful gloating that very second.

By the look on Robert's face, he could as well.

Speaking of which, Robert rolled his eyes at such words, "Perhaps, but I'd find it rather particular if you didn't have at least a smeg of gloating in you past all that ice and frost."

The air was cold, as it often was in the North. An icy chill ran down the back of both men's back. It was akin to a frozen blade being pressed against an exposed bit of flesh. Robert felt a particular shiver run down the base of his spine. For what seemed like an hour or so, the larger man spared the Stark a small stare. The two eyes bored into the lord of the North, waiting for something, anything to come from it. But, nothing did.

Robert grumbled, "Fine, if you won't do it, then I shall."'

"Few could say that they had what I did, even at the dead end of their very lives." he sighed, "Land to rule, men and women at my beck and call, more wine and ale than I could possibly drink."

He shook his head, "The two of us muddled through more than enough blood and body parts in our day. I stood atop a mountain of corpses, upon a throne of swords. And even with all of that, I was blind. What was right in front of me for such a long time. A lie that was staring me dead in the face long before my ale battered brain could take notice, and yet not once did I even bother to squint my eyes at what might have been there all along."

"Months, years, every damn day I sat with that woman by my side, and never once did I even raise a brow at what she did. The hidden smiles she shot her brother, the smirks, and the distained glances she shot in my direction at every opportune moment. Even that little bastard of a boy. Was I just that full of it that I never even pondered the thought that he might not have been mine. My father could be a bit of an arse at times, but I would think my blood would be more rational than anything that came out of the maw of that little shit."

Robert ran one of his hands through his frazzled hair, "It's maddening. I kept women by my side and never took a step out of my chambers without some sort of drink in my hand. Maybe I did notice and simply sought to drown out the pathetic truth with as much ale as I could stuff down my throat."

"And that, is a lot of ale." Ned noted, earning a sad nod from the former King.

He sighed, "Yes, yes it was. Hell, my throat feels utterly parched. I haven't had a good drink since I left that rotten place. My head hurts, my brain feels as if it's rattling around inside my noggin, and my legs? Oh, don't even get me started on that."

Ned smirked, "Well, I've told you a good walk couldn't hurt you all that much. May finally help with that gut of yours. No more need of a stretcher for that armor you used to wear."

"Very funny."

The two men battered back a small laugh between each other. It was short, but sweet. Robert could hardly remember the last time he had laughed like that. These past few weeks had surely left little room for some chuckling. Though as they laughed, the former King glanced up and noticed a leaf. A small leaf, fluttering down from the mighty tree. It was red, blood red, almost as if someone had ripped open their own flesh and drenched it with as much fluid as they could muster without passing out.

When he saw it, Robert stopped laughing.

"Yet with all the aches I have, my heart and pride feels it the most." he sighed, "It is as you and that woman had spoken of."

"I am no King. I haven't been a King for years now. All I've been is some drunken slob, sitting atop a throne that I stole, with a woman at my side. A woman who was more concerned with fucking her brother than being a queen, and having more bastards than I'd rather come to admit."

Bitter, tasteless words dribbled up from the man's throat. Robert clenched his eyes shut and bit back another curse. Throughout the long and treacherous journey to the North, the former King had spent far more than his fair share of time cursing what had happened. Days spent muttering whatever wayward curse and yell he could muster He could recall the confused looks spared toward him by random bystanders that passed him on the road. Upon his arrival though, the man felt as if he had little more to curse about. He felt drained, empty, and nothing else to say. Anything else would be a wasted breath, nothing more.

The tired man lowered his head and let loose a small sigh. He crossed his arms and shook his head. In the presence of the Stark, the tree, and whatever else he could spy throughout the forest, Robert felt empty. No anger, no rage, there wasn't even a hint of disappointment left. In the past, the man would have found anything to blame his worries on. His right hand, his wife, the Kingdom, and even the ale he so casually shoved down his throat at any given time during the day. Now though? There wasn't anything, not a bit. The former King looked to himself and felt the urge to turn on his heel and walk away.

Such thoughts came to an end though when a hefty smack slammed into the man's back. Robert stumbled forward and sputtered about, unprepared for whatever had hit him. With a glare in his eyes, the former King snapped around and turned to face whatever had smacked him without his permission.

Ned had slapped Robert on the back with a loud smack. The sound of the impact echoed through the forest, more than loud enough to catch the former King's attention. As he turned though, the larger man was met with an expression he rarely saw upon the Stark's face. It wasn't one of cold indifference, irritation, or a hefty glare that could knock even the most composed men off their feet like a good hook to the face. Instead, the old time friend looked at him with a pair of warm eyes, and the lightest of smirks that he had seen in quite a long time. He could barely even realize he was looking at the Lord of the North, the smile clashed that much with what was normally seen atop the man's face.

"Lesser men, would have done nothing. One undeserving of such a title, might have remained on his throne, aware of what was happening around him, and done nothing. Such a man would have merely drank ale from sunrise to sunset, using it to put their minds off what was happening until the day they would find themselves as a rotten pile of flesh, face first in the dirt. To such meager men, they would be unfit to sit upon a throne, even one made of straw."

Ned chuckled, "And that, least to me, makes you a King."

"Once you bore witness to what was happening around you, you did what you had to. Robert, you turned away, you denied them what they were muttering about in their towers, behind closed doors. You could have remained blind to what was happening around you, and yet. You didn't. Witnessing the vile snakes slithering around your house, you threw that ale aside and bid them farewell. The snakes have but the wolves to contend with now, and you decided to leave them to their fate, instead of being dragged down to the depths along with them."

He gave Robert a good, firm pat on his shoulder, "You may not have seen it for such a long time, but when you did, you realized what had to be done. That is what makes a King. Perhaps not the one you wanted to be, but it is what you are."

Robert said nothing, not a word. The former King lowered his gaze and stared at the snow ridden ground. But in his silent, the man smiled. He felt the grip of Ned's hand and chuckled. A deep, bombastic chuckle. It started out slow, but slowly it worked its way up the man's throat and erupted out like a slow burning fire. Throughout the forest, the sound of a Baratheon's laughter echoed outward, all for anyone to hear.

Ned smiled, content with the man's laughter. With another pat, the Stark helped his friend raise his head and laugh. The two shared a long, content bit of chuckling between the two of them. Neither could remember the last time either of them had done such a thing. With nothing hanging out in the back of their mind, nothing nagging at them constantly like a maggot nibbling into their flesh. There was none of that, not a hint of it. Both friends stood in front of the massive Weirwood tree and laughed, for longer than either of the pair could have expected. In the end though, neither could find even the slightest urge to stop. Not for a moment.

As minutes passed and as snow fell around them, the laughter began to subside. Robert heaved himself up and held his stomach. His lungs felt as if they were on fire, a sentiment that even Ned could agree with. The Stark kept himself on his feet with a hand on the Baratheon's shoulder. If the two laughed any harder, either of them were sure they'd find itself rather difficult to breath for a good while.

Ned chuckled, "Now then, with that settled."

"What are you going to do now?" he asked, "I'm sure you don't have many places to go these days. I'm still surprised to see you looking so well after such a journey here."

Robert waved a hand, still having trouble catching his breath, "Well, that is the question isn't it. I could perhaps go seek out my brothers. I'm sure to get an ear full from them, but that is to be expected. Might as well get it over with before they grow even more angry with me."

The Lord of the North shook his head, "Perhaps, but until then, you're welcome here in Winterfell as long as you may require for yourself."

"No," Robert shook his head, "There is no need. You have done more than enough for me, I couldn't possibly take up room in your home, not after all the trouble I have caused you."

Ned raised a brow, "You are one for trouble, but this is still my keep. If I wish to have a guest, then that is my decision. It might not be what you're used to, but I'm sure it'll be decent enough for you."

"Thank you." Robert said and both men turned to the sound of eerie singing.

* * *

Herian before the hearth of her room, a large new tome sitting enfront of her. It had been in Harimands box, Harimand had taken far too much delight later in his life, experimenting with the natural magics of new worlds and forms of channelling and absorbing these energies.

The book detailed these forms, as the elf was still very drained from her fight with the Witcher. Herian was attempting to learn these new techniques, stress on attempting.

She breathed deeply and fell into her Witchers mediation, slowly opening herself to the lay lines of the land.

Bit by bit, cell by cell, she let her walls down, Winterfells magic was warm, pleasant even. She didn't go soul running, just stayed in her own skin. It still felt alien to her, there was no Aetherius here to absorb from. This magic hummed through the land and grew with each passing minute. It was a small, tiny change, like water eroding away at a stream, but given enough time a stream could become a river.

She called her soul up, her dragon and wolf.

They rose and she let out a small moan as they left her body to sit beside her. The Laylines gift was more intense now, with no flesh to protect her. Herian called out softly, a wordless cry, the magic seeped into her. She could feel her pool returning bit by bit, but it felt less and less like proper Magicka.

It felt warm one moment, icy the next and it seeped deeper and deeper, her magicka started to change and warp to it. Now she was starting to understand why the Starks were famous for being cold with wolf hearts. If this was what lurked under there skin? This wild magic of ice and fire, it made her wolf want to run free.

Herian could feel the land itself, it remembered peoples and powers dating back to the first men. A human magic, not of this place, yet this place adopted them, took them in and made them its. The elf prodded that magic of the land, tested it.

What she found was family, a family worth of magic, renewed and weaken, throughout the ages. She felt Eddard and his children, though they were lesser than him, if still strong. Had Herian the thought to spare, she would think that Catylen must not have had any magic to pass on.

The Starks felt a strange warmth crawl through them, Jon snapped his head away from his book and left his room.

Deeper and deeper, more and more. It hurt, it burned, it was soft, yet it hurt more and more. The elf tried to fight it away, draw back into herself. It was like something was sinking her claws into her, voices filled her head. Not letting her go, demanding to be heard. A thousand, thousand voices, voices that spoke in tongues no man could speak, voices to deep to be human, others in tongues Westeros had forgotten.

Jon burst into the room in time to see her fall forward to the ground and scream. "Sehttayemohtpayem!"

Her soul snapped back into her skin and she fell to the side, eyes wide and unseeing, panting all the while.

Jon raced over, "Herian!" Kneeling he helped her sit back up. "What happened?"

She pressed a palm to her temple. "Was trying to absorb your worlds magic, it hurts." She wrapped her arms around her. Her heart felt like it might burst, the magic she had taken in squirmed and wriggled around within her like a worm. It felt like her skin was humming with the new power, but couldn't figure out what to do with it.

"Can I help?"

She shook her head, her red locks falling into disarray. "Need time."

Jon sat beside her crossing his legs. "Alright."

Herian looked at the teen and remembered the incoming Conjunction of spheres. He had grown, learned, been open to all manner of things, but he would never be a match for most monsters. She bit her lip and made a choice. "Jon, remember once not long after we meant I mentioned that my Wolf Gift can be passed on?"

Jon nodded.

"Would you like it? I will teach you control of course, but." She squeezed herself tighter, oh it burned a frozen fire. "I think that maybe it would be good for you to have it. I wasn't ever going to offer it to you before, your human, and that is good. But being a bit more than human, can never hurt in the long run." If something happened to her it would also leave him with an edge.

Jon was speechless for a moment, the offer, the offer to be like her. He knew it wouldn't all be fun and games, hell it would be bad at times. "Yes, thank you." His gut told him that this was the right move.

Herian picked herself up. "Come on then, the sun is still up and a run will do me good."

They retrieved the cloaks and walked out of Winterfell, once in the Wolfs Wood, they stayed close to castle. Herian picked a glade and stripped, told Jon to do the same. Then gave herself over to her wolf. Strangely the shift was easier then normal and she heard the strangest whispering for a moment.

She held out her right arm to Jon and cut a thin line across her wrist. "A mouthful, no more."

Jon nodded, swallowed and pressed his lips to the cut, he let his mouth fill with tart coppery fluid and then pulled away and swallowed. He coughed and fell to his knees, his chest ached and the change shunted itself through him.

Herian took a step away and watched. She found it odd how, easy the shift was being on him, he was done in seconds.

A huge black wolf rolled to his feet before her, he was bulkier than her and about the same height. Strangely, much of him was shaped just a little more wolven then herself. His fingers shorter and thicker, claws wider, shorter and thicker as well. His pelt was very thick and looked like it would service him well in the coming winter. Ice blue eyes came to focus on her, he growled.

The gold wolf lunged forward and forced him back to the ground closing her jaws around his head. Just holding him, not breaking the skin.

The growl lessened and stopped.

Herian released his head and stepped away, then stood up tall. A short barking laugh escaped her as Jon set about figuring out how to get his new legs under him.

He shook his massive head at her, his ears flicked forward and he gave his own barking laugh.

The gold wolf flicked her wrist in a come gesture and they set off deeper into the forest, walking till Jon got the hang of it. With a single step she switched to all fours and walked around him, showing. Again they did this till Jon was comfortable with it, then they ran!

Jon's heart was singing! It was like Warging Ghost but more intense, it was his own body! He jumped over a great fallen tree and pushed himself to see how fast he could go.

Herian kept easy pass with him, he was doing abnormally well. Maybe there was something about this place that suited werewolves? Her own shift had been easier, watching Jon leap around like a puppy was very amusing. She caught the scent of deer on the wind, an old buck. Within a few strides she caught up with Jon and rubbed her cheek against his. Then flicked her head for him to follow.

She showed than the prowled along the forest floor, when the buck came into sight, Jon fell back to watch. Herian slinked as close as she could and then with a great pounce brought the buck down in one fell swoop. Her teeth tearing its throat out.

The smell of blood made Jons stomach growl, slowly he approached the buck. Herian stepped back allowing him access.

His teeth cut through bone and flesh with easy, and the taste was extraordinary. He let out a rumbled then set about devouring the buck, the gold wolf started to tear out large pieces of her own.

It tasted so good, he tore and feasted crunched the bones and when it was growl he raised his nose and scented for more.

Herian growled at him, drawing his attention back to her. The look on her face made him shudder and he let out a wine.

The gold wolf went around the corpse and rubbed her cheek against his again. Jon inhaled deeply taking in her scent, till the bloodlust faded. He had a new understanding of how she had felt in Kings Landing, hungry, never full. This must be what she said when she talked of control, not to gorge oneself, to know when to stop and be able.

They started back towards Winterfell, back to their clothing.

Herian shifted back first and waited for him.

Jon shook his head when he had returned to his human shape. "How do you do that? Stop?"

Herian smiled and hugged him. "Practice, my father is wolf was well. I did with him, what we just did. Till I could control, sure I fell a bit off the waggon later on, but I never went completely mad."

"How often should we do that?" Jon asked as she pulled away and got dressed.

"Once a month, the full moon. It makes the shift easier." She fixed her cloak.

Jon finished a moment after. "Alright." He breathed deeply, he could smell rain, moss and oak, beyond that some of the small foke were setting about dinner. "That is going to take some getting used too."

The elf smiled knowingly. "That it will."

They returned to Winterfell.

* * *

Herian wandered for a bit, Jon had chosen to return to his reading, leaving Herian to work on the problem of her magic alone. After the run she felt less like she was burning from the inside out. The elf subconsciously started to trail her fingers along a the walls as she walked. Feeling the rush of the water through the thick stone, Winterfell had history. A history she hadn't thought about too much since coming, how foolish she had been.

She should have treated this castle like a contract, history was one of the first things Witchers looked at when there was a problem. However she hadn't known there was a problem, she had been sparse with her magic and it had returned. However now drained of all of it, she released just how slow it had been to return. This would not do, sure she probably could manage, but there was a magic here, growing and she was determined to figure it out.

After the first contact, there had been voices. With her now clear mind, she remembered, her feet took her towards the Godswood without her input.

The Weirwood trees and these 'Old Gods' perhaps they were a focus in this lands magic. Maybe she could try meditating under the white skinned tree.

She wandered into the Godswood, she liked it here, it was very different than the southern Kings Landing wood.

This Godswood was a dark, primal place, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. It smelled of moist earth and decay. It had none of the southern red woods. This was a wood of stubborn sentinel trees armoured in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Here thick black trunks crowded so close together while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead and misshappen roots wrestled beneath the soil. All blanketed in a soft white snow. This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no names.

The elf loved this wood, it reminded her of home and resonated in her spirit. When she walked with it, it felt as if Hircine was walking with her, it felt like this place belong in his realm, the Hunting Grounds. Where southern's would feel doom and gloom. She felt a deep life thrumming in the ground, she reached out and touched an ironwood tree. Herian stretched out her soul, and reached into the tree.

Its greeting was strange, like a caress over her spirit, it had a strange voice that she didn't understand. It was one of the voices she had heard before, but this time it was just one. Not near as overwhelming, she tired to ask about the Laylines, but no words could be spoken.

Yet the ironwood understood and Herian's eyes rolled into the back of her head as it pulled her deeper. "See" she was sure it said, and she did see. There was a place of power within the Weirwood tree, the Laylines were strong and growing stronger. Each Weirwood was connected to the others, she didn't try to see through their eyes. She was a stranger in this land. Other voices started to feel her and she asked the ironwood to return her to herself.

The tree was reluctant, but it let her go.

Herian fell to her knees and and took a few deep breaths, her eyes returned to normal. Yes she had made the right step in coming here, slowly she picked herself back up, careful to not touch the tree or any roots and returned to her wanderings. She did not go straight to the Weirwood, instead she enjoyed the scents and sounds of the Godswood. The great creaking as the wind past through the trees, the moan of there swaying.

She opened her mouth to sing out in Daedric, but decided against it. Daedric belonged to the Daedra, theirs was a power, and it was not something she wanted to invoke right now. It was the native language of her magics and it had forced the voices away before. This was their place, she would not use a foreign tongue.

The elf pursed her lips, what should she sing? She need to introduce herself that was clear and the only song she knew of Witchers was one the monsters had created for them. Well she had one for werewolves, perhaps that would be a good start. Herian raised her voice and sang to the Old Gods.

 _: "The maiden she should at cottage go,_

 _The linden trees tremble in the grove._

 _The she thook the way to the forest blue._

 _'Cause she was by love bound._

 _And when she came to the forest blue,_

 _The linden trees trembles in the grove._

 _There met her a wolf so gray,_

 _'Cause she was by love bound._

 _"Dear wolf thou bite not me!_

 _Thee I will give my silver gown."_

 _"Silver gown suits not me,_

 _Thy young life and blood must go."_

 _"Dear thou wolf bite not me!"_

 _The linden trees tremble in the grove._

 _"Thee I will give my silver shoes"_

 _'Cause she was by love bound."_

 _"Shoes gown suits not me."_

 _The linden trees trembles in the grove._

 _"Thy young life and blood must go"_

 _'Cause she was by love bound._

 _"Dear wolf thou bite not me!_

 _Thee I will give my silver crown!"_

 _"Silver crown suits not me,_

 _Thy young life and blood must go."_

 _The maiden she climbed so high in oak._

 _The linden trees trembles in the grove._

 _And the wolf he stood on the ground and howled._

 _'Cause she was by love bound._

 _And the wolf he tore up the oak by the roots._

 _The linden trees trembles in the grove._

 _The maiden she gave such a terrible cry,_

 _'Cause she was by love bound._

 _Young lad saddles his mount gray,_

 _The linden trees trembles in the grove._

 _He rode a little faster than the fowl flew,_

 _'Cause she was by love bound._

 _And when then he came to the place forth,_

 _The linden trees trembles in the grove_

 _Then he found no more than a bloody arm,_

 _'Cause she was by love bound._

 _Gods comfort Gods help me young lad,_

 _The linden trees trembles in the grove._

 _My maiden is gone my horse is dead,_

 _'Cause she was by love bound.:"_

Her translation wasn't very good, but she hadn't bother to translate this one before now. That said, some tongues just didn't translate nicely to others. Nor did she care she had just told the whole godswood how to hurt her. The elf hoped they would take it as a leap of faith.

The wind picked up and the leaves and pine rustled, creating a symphony of sounds. Herian slowed and listened, though words she could not understand, the wind kissing her cheeks gently.

The Witcher raised her voice in an smooth eerie lullaby.

" _:Wolves asleep amidst the trees,_

 _Bats all aswayin' in the breeze,_

 _But one soul lies anxious, wide awake,_

 _Fearin' all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths._

 _For your dolly, polly sleep has flown,_

 _Don't dare let her tremble alone._

 _For the witcher,_

 _Heartless cold,_

 _Paid in coin of gold,_

 _He comes, he'll go,_

 _Leave naught behind_

 _But heartache alone._

 _Dee dee ohh._

 _Birds are silent for the night,_

 _Cows turned in as daylight dies,_

 _But one soul lies anxious wide awake,_

 _Fearin' all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths._

 _My dear dolly, polly shut your eyes,_

 _Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries._

 _As the witcher,_

 _Brave and bold,_

 _Paid in coin of gold._

 _He'll chop and slice you,_

 _Gut and dice you,_

 _Eat you up whole._

 _Eat you whole.":_

Herian had always liked this one, it was always fun to see Witchers from the monster's perspective. One song about monsters, one about Witchers.

The wood creaked out its own response, the wind played in her hair. She smiled, and the Weirwood came into view, and with it Eddard and Robert, both looking at her.

"Oh uh, sorry. I shall come back later then." She turned on her heel and started to leave.

Eddard reached out. "No, it's alright, we're done. What are you doing here? If you don't mind me asking, you don't usually roam here."

Herian made her way over, the frosted ground crunching underfoot. "Well your Gods have seen fit to try and all talk to me at once." She rubbed her temple in memory. "I figured, I'd take a guess and try and introduce myself properly. Maybe then they would let up."

"You can talk to the Old Gods?" Neds brow rose.

"Ha, no. But they won't let me gather magic from the area. It's like what I do take burns, I can't use it and the longer I try to gather the more voices I hear." She walked around the two men to stand under the Weirwood.

The Witcher pulled a glove off and just brushed her fingertips to the white wood.

Pain raced up her arm like a thousand tiny needles. The elf gave a high pitched yelp and jumped back.

Eddard moved swiftly to her side, his cloak sweeping around him. He came up behind her and steading her by her shoulders. "What happened?"

"I want to say it bit me. But I don't think that would begin to describe it." Herian wiggled her fingers trying to regain the sensation.

Robert couldn't help it, he chuckled. "I never thought I'd would hear you yelp like that."

Herian glared at him, but felt a smile on her lips.

Ned took her hand and the pain faded, whether it was because he was warm or just someone else, she couldn't tell.

Her hand felt cold to the touch, like ice. He looked down when he felt Herian lookup. "What?"

"I have an idea." She stepped forward turned to him and pulled his glove off.

Ned allowed her to pull him to the Weirwood tree. With a step and her back to his front her hand in his, together they touched the tree.

Magic flared up Herian's arm, twisted inside her and settled, and yet it still didn't feel like magicka. It felt more euphoric, like it was caressing every inch of her body, exploring her.

Ned felt the elf shake and moan against him. Which ignited his lust, then a strange warm feeling was slowly making its way into him as well, travelling long forgotten paths. When the last door opened the felt the same pleasure, his free hand came around her waist and his fingers gripped her hip so hard she would have bruises.

When it became too much they both pulled away, eyes dilated with lust, hearts hammering.

"What in the name of the Old Gods, was that?" Eddard asked peeling himself away from her, though all he wanted to do was strip her and fuck like a wolf in the snow.

Had Robert not been there, Herian would have pounced Ned. "I have no idea, my best guess would be whatever, whoever your Old Gods are, was getting acquainted with us."

They stared at other, panting coiled ready to spring.

Robert looked between the two, thinking, "Well it's about time." The aloud he turned away and waved over his shoulder. "Enjoy yourselves." He chuckled when Herian's yelp reached his ears followed by the soft crunch of snow, that meant they hit the ground.

Herian wrapped her legs around the northman as he attacked her neck. Biting, nipping, kissing, relishing in every sound he pulled from the elf. Grinding his cock to her cunt. Hands made quick word of the cloak clasp, the elfs tunic was all but torn off.

Her eyes fluttered in pleasure and she responded with the same fevered action. She raised up to kiss her Thane, though that title would soon no longer be relevant. Their lips parted and Ned slid his tongue over hers, he forced her back to the ground and used an arm to support his weight while the other cupped a full breast.

Her nipple was hard and sensitive in the cool air, each swipe of his thumb caused a small moan.

Herian in the back of her mind to could the lay lines flare, the magic pulsing through them.

Eddard lowered himself and attacked her left breast as it was yet untouched.

Her cry echoed through the wood as his hot mouth descended, he nipped the delicate flesh, pressed his tongue to the hard point and flicked it back and forth gently.

The elf writhed beneath him, bucking her hips to his, one hand in his hair the other gripping his shoulder for all her worth.

Ned sucked harder on the sensitive flesh, drew his tongue slowly over while massaging her other breast. Testing, teasing, the cool in in contrast with his warm hand and mouth sent Herian reeling.

"You okay?" Ned moved back up her, kissing and biting her neck through his question.

Herian slide her hand out of his hair, ran a finger under his jaw and pulled him gently up to kiss her again, slowly with that heat growing underneath. Taking the time to gather just enough of her thoughts. "Yes, more." she nipped his lip, catching it carefully between her teeth, he growled. "Fuck me." She whispered.

Eddard did not need to be told twice, he rose back slightly, then attacked her breeches, again nearly ripping them in the process. His mind called up some of the information from Harimand letter, this wasn't Catylen, he wasn't about to treat her the same way. He undid the lacing from on his breeches and pulled his cock free. Shivering when the cold air hit it. "Turn over."

Herian shivered though not from cold, and braced herself raising her hips up with her knees, forearms flat to the ground, back arched slightly, all to present herself to him.

With a hand Eddard guided himself to her, then slowly pushed forward wrapping both hands around her hips. It was perfect, soft, hot, with just that right amount of resistance slowly giving way to his might.

Herian was in heaven, he felt strong and powerful behind her, his weight, height, all of it focused on her. His cock felt perfect, sliding slowly into her, her own juices helping him push deeper, fill her more. She shut her eyes and pushed back against him as best she could, but the braced position allowed for very little input on her part.

Ned gripped her hips with both hands and pulled her flush to him sharply.

The elf cried loudly out, her voice echoing around through the Godswood, though with how he was pressed up against that most pleasurable place. She couldn't find it in herself to care who heard.

The northman leaned forward wrapping an arm around her hips, but coming parallel to her to kissing her neck, his breath audible in her ear.

Herian let out a pleased sigh when his bulk covered her, his cloak hiding the two of them from the wind. The heat of his chest, warming her, his free hand came down to braced himself next her hers. In relax she contracted her cunts walls around him, fluttering her muscles.

Ned jerked his hips sharply in response, a bit her neck again.

She stilled at the combined actions, she was fast loving it when he bit her, it all felt so good it was more than a little overwhelming. Her inner muscles were protesting against the intrusion, a slight ache though them.

"You need a minute." Ned rumbled in her ear. That was something Harimands letter hadn't needed to outline, woman need a little time after that first blissful stroke.

Herian didn't want to wait a minute, the stretch and soreness could go to Oblivion. She let out a small whine and clenched her muscles again.

Eddard let out a sharp intake of breath and growled. "Fine." Slowly he withdrew part way then slammed forward, all his strength and mass behind it. Then did it again and again, building a slow pounding rhythm. He had to dig his free hand into the snow to ground himself, the shear pleasure was consuming. She was growing wetter around him, taking all he threw at her, the slap of her breasts together as the force traveled through her. His hand moved from her waist to tightly grip a breast, just feeling its heft and texture.

The elf cried out with every empowered thrust, she had to use all her strength to keep from being driven down to the forest floor. Sharp shocks of pleasure, tried to turn her to mush. The walls of her cunt contracting and releasing in time with his strokes. That ache of penetration gave way to one of pleasure, that endless earning for more. A fire that could only be fed.

Ned kissed her slender column of her neck, her long red locks, soft against his cheek, he watched her hands franticly grip her cloak. Her loud crying moans, the sweetest music he had ever heard. His pace was just right, setting her alight, the sounds of their joining grew to a wet slap. He kneaded her breast, forcefully, just to hear the her groan louder.

He grew back slightly and smiled when she gave a shuddering moan at the loss of him at her back. He ran his hands down her back slowly, fingers splayed wide, tracing the hard tense muscles, his thumbs down her spine.

Herian moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed at the long smooth pet.

Neds hands settled back on her hips, to grip in that same bruising strength. He slowly guided her forward while withdrawing. Then slammed forward pulling her back to met him, again, and again, deep laboured breaths as he fought his pleasure for the sake of hers.

Her eyes widened and all she could do was pant, try to keep air in her lungs. It almost hurt, the angle, she was sure there was no more room for him. He was hitting things deep within that fingers could never. Faster he moved before setting on a punishing pace, that filled her, pushed her farther down into that abyss.

Eddard looked down to her, watched his cock posses her over and over, that sight alone was almost too much.

Herian came undone all at once, she came with a cry and crumbled to the ground as her arms gave way. The pleasure was near blinding, and it raced up her spine, to consume her.

Her muscles gave one last flutter around Ned, and he let go, pulling her to him one last time, before releasing his seed. He leaned back down over her and pulled them both to the ground on his side, refusing to leave her warmth for the time being.

Eddard drew his cloak over them and nuzzled his face into her soft hair, the braid had long since fallen apart. He grew great breaths, his free arm wrapped around her, a hand possessively over her stomach.

Herians brain was utter mush, all she wanted to do was sleep, his cock still hard felt different here, heavier, thicker. The elf drew her legs up slightly to give him better access should he want to go again.

He followed her action, curling around her, then pinning her legs under one of his.

They both focused on regaining their breath for several minutes. Ned stroking her belly lazily.

Herian purred at the sensation, and felt that ache for more slowly flicker back to life.

Neds eyes fell on the Weirwood tree, blush almost dusted his cheeks. "Never thought I would do this before the Gods."

The elf gave a small tried laugh. "It's not so strange, Sanguines sphere of influence is sex as well as other things. Partaking in the pleasures of the flesh is but one way to worship a God like him. Your Gods are old, I doubt this is the first time they have seen this." She wiggled her hips very slightly, trying to get comfy.

Neds hand snapped to her waist, "If you don't stop that, I will have you again." he growled in her ear with just that right kind of threat.

Herian bit her lip and smiled, that sounded rather wonderful. "If you do that, there will be no doubt what we've been up too."

Eddard chuckled, stroking her hip with a thumb. "With how you were screaming I don't think that will be a problem. Robert has probably already made some lewd comments to Rodrick or someone."

"Probably." Herian said with a smile. "You make me very glad I waited till I found someone I wanted."

"Waited?" Ned asked, she had no maiden head, but he hadn't really thought on it.

"I was till now, a maiden. Not that I really cared about it, I was just waiting for someone I liked." She explained it like it was nothing major.

Ned raised himself up to look her in the eye, a brow raised.

"What?" She asked confused.

Ned shook his head and chuckled. "You should have said something, I would have-"

"Been more gentle?" Herian reached up to caress his cheek, "That is not me, I am not some delicate flower that you have to be afraid of breaking. This was perfect, I would not wish for anything different." Her eyes flicked away as many things flittered through her mind. "At least not right now."

Ned smiled and leaned down to kiss her, long, slow soft kisses, conveying other feelings than lust, binding them.

The sun was setting and the temperature dipping.

"We sound go back inside." Ned said, the cold wasn't bothering him yet, but supper would be soon.

Herian sighed and kissed him one last time. "Alright."

Slowly he withdrew from her sheath and tucked himself away before the wind could taunt him.

Herian slowly sat up, her legs protesting loudly, particularly between them. She grew them up under and reached over to gather her clothing and boots, pulling her tunic on swiftly, but her underclothes and breeches slowly. When dressed, Eddard helped her to her feet.

"Ohhh." Herian pressed a hand to her womb.

Ned picked up her cloak and gave it a shake. "Sore?" Catelyn had always been sore, but then he had never fucked Cat like he just had Herian.

"A bit." She admitted, she was mildly surprised that she hadn't healed. Maybe her healing was selective to what was life threatening. Her hips were sore and she knew the walk back would be slow. Then she had the oddest feeling of their fluids leaking out of her, now she understood a benefit to small clothes.

Ned pursed his lips, then wrapped her cloak around her fastening it. With a smirk as her only warning he scooped her up carrying her bridal style.

"Hey!" Herian explained, looping her arms around his neck.

"You're light, I am not going to make you walk all the way back to the keep. Not when your soreness is my doing." He set off out of the Godswood, not sparing the Weirwood a glance.

Herian purred and kissed his cheek, loving the feeling of his beard against her chin. "Alright, I don't see any point in fighting you. But you put me down when we get closer, in case the whole keep doesn't know what we've been up too."

Ned smiled. "As you wish."

Herian snuggled into his embrace with another purr.

 **Short porn. :P Please review, don't forget about that contest for the 100th reviewer or the poll.**


	22. Chapter 22

**More sex, gore, not for those of an easily upset stomach. Quite simply, Herian demonstrates every Witchers weakness, lack of information.**

Changing Times

Supper had been an excruciating affair, between Roberts smirks and being very sore. Had she been a bit less sore she would have fled much earlier. She sat in her usual spot and tried not to blush whenever Eddard looked her way.

So now she was trying to pace back and forth in her room with minimal success. She had long since stripped out the soiled garb, the room was warm but she was so flushed it felt hot.

She turned to analyze her hips, the hand shaped bruises had faded to yellow and were well on their way out. Her collection of bites and too faded if still visible.

Herian flopped on her bed, burying her face in her pillow. "Gods that was so stupid!" She should have stopped him, she hadn't taken any measures against a child, heck she couldn't cast the charm right now anyway. Sure the chances were very small that he could even get her pregnant, but taking the risk was stupid.

Why had that happened? All they did was touch that damned tree, they had kissed what once, twice? Where in Oblivion had that come from? She got back up and set about passing again, threading her fingers into her hair gripping her head. The elf walked over to her hearth, bringing her hands down, to hold them before her. Closing her eyes she tried to pull up magic, whatever the Old Gods did squirmed in her chest, but did not obey.

Herian let out a defeated sigh and went back to bed. She laid down on her back and started up at the ceiling, what had it all been for? What had the Old Gods done to her? They went from trying to make her head explode, to making her horny beyond reason. The only thing that had been added to the equation was Eddard.

Eddard, now that was a topic that needed some serious thought. Yes she liked him, liked him a lot, the more she learned the more she liked and well she would never forget what he had done to her. She shivered though not out of cold and rolled over to her side, and very carefully played with her clit. She bit her lip to keep from moaning, just the thought of him was more than enough to arouse her.

Her flesh was still sore in memory of him, the feel of him within her. She bit her lip and nuzzled her face into her pillow. That was one way to well and truly kill her restraint.

"Gods." She whispered, remembering his form pressed to her back.

She pulled her fingers away, knowing she would only get herself more worked up without being able to reach the finish line. Herian tried to imagine what his hands had felt like, but he had been wearing one glove most of the time. The other had been rough and dry.

"Fuck." She whispered into her pillow, closing her eyes. Pandora's box had been opened and there was no shutting it now. Just when she had gotten used to sleeping alone, she no longer had too. All she had to do was pluck up the courage and walk down the hall.

Herian had never payed Sansa's septa much mind, though she was fairly certain that it was the man who went to the woman. That said, nothing about this fell into what was normal was this culture.

Once her fire had died, she slipped out of bed and pulled on a housecoat. She slinked out into the hall, Neds rooms all of five steps away, the longest five steps of her life.

The elf wished her magic was working as the door let out a soft creak, when she opened it.

Eddards' rooms were spacious though it didn't look like he used over half of it. There was one large hearth across from the bed and the room was cooler, than hers. Perhaps the northman's preference. A chest of drawers and wardrobe just like hers on the far wall, with one window with thick wooden shutters.

Neds eyes snapped open when he heard his door creak, a smile lit his lips as he watched Herian study his room without moving. The elf stepped into the room and he could tell she was still a bit tender.

She took a few steps closer to him, then slide out of the housecoat, letting it fall to the stoney floor.

He had seen her nude many times, but maybe it was knowing he would be allowed to touch, taste, or maybe it was the little glow of hearth and moonlight. The sight of her instantly had him aroused. He pulled the furs aside in invitation.

Herian hesitated for a moment, perhaps seeing his state but she was already here, she took the last few steps then climbed into bed. Rather than moving beside him, she straddled his hips and kissed him softly on the lips.

The kisses was slow and tender, casual, yet in promise of more. A hand moved from his shoulder down to his hip, stopping to trace a scar or muscle along the way.

His hands came up to cup her back just above her waist, rough hands ever so slightly kneading the hard flesh.

Herian let out a soft pleased noise in the back of her throat, and lowered her chest so her breasts were pressed against his chest.

Her hands made their way back up to weave their way into his hair, her thumbs just below his temple. The elf moaned softly into the kiss, slipping her tongue forward to caress his lip.

Ned flexed his hips causing the tip of his erection to bump her clitorous. Another soft sound from the elf, as she jumped slightly, her fingers tightened marginally.

She shifted the angle of her hips to tease him, reluctantly pulling her hands free and moving them to brace her against his chest as she sat up.

Herian had seen whores to this, so she had a vague idea what to do. With a careful shift of her hips, she aligned herself and slowly lowered herself down into his member.

Eddard let out a pleased sound, and held her hips again though much more carefully than before, just guiding her down at her pace.

It took a minute for her body to relax, dilate and allow him in. She moaned at the sensation, eyes sliding shut, arching her back slightly presenting her breasts to him, they pressed up between her arms making them seen even fuller. The moonlight setting her ashen skin aglow.

Ned was transfixed by her, she felt so perfect snuggly wrapped around him. He longed to thrust to make her bounce atop him, but he rubbed little circles on her hips with his thumbs. He felt a bit bad about what had happened before the Weirwood. He didn't know what had come over him, so he let her set the pace, figure out what she liked.

Though that thought was almost destroyed when she started to rock her hips. Rising and falling slightly, the muscles of her lower abdomen ripping in the dark. As she lifted and fell, raising her hips back and forth, up and down like a dancer at the same time.

He let her hips go and balled his hands into fists, in an effort to control himself. Her muscles contracted and released around him a slow teasing pace, she was so completely unrushed. Ned watched allowing her to figure out what pleased her, her breasts rising and falling with her deep breaths.

"Beautiful." Ned thought, Catylen had been beautiful, but Herian had a dept that he hadn't even begun to learn about. She came to him, was riding him, because she wanted too, not in hope of becoming with child, or because it was her duty. Catylen had always just lain back and let him do the work, he had always tried to give her pleasure, but she never took it, as the beautiful elf was.

Tight, soft, warm, wet, her walls felt so very perfect around him. That rolling thing he had never experienced before, by the Old Gods it was exquisite. Double the normal sensation, as they actions moved with each other, yet almost independently as she layered them. He had to grab and kneed the sheet to distract his hands. This slow pace allowing different sensations than their hurried coupling in the Godswood. He could really relish in her feel, he gave up resisting and took hold of her hips again, but he only massaged her tight tense flesh of her ass, the tight orbs fitting perfectly into his hands.

Herian experimented with a slightly lower angle leaning forward so that her clint rubbed up and down his cock, and so that special place within her was stimulated. Her eyes shot open, their gaze meeting, she rose more and slide herself down faster. The shock of pleasure had her crying out, she did it again, then rose and fell faster using her thighs for height and speed.

That high sound in the back of her throat cried forth over and over as she came strove for more sensation.

Ned shifted his hands to pull her down from the apex of her strokes, causing her to cry out louder, but it wasn't enough for either of them.

Herian fell against his chest, her nipples rubbing against the hair of his chest, hands raised to grip his shoulders. She continued to try and impale herself on his member. Her womb ached, the pressure of him inside her and her mounting pleasure. Her brain was mush and her thighs ached, it was so hard to keep focused enough to move. Finally she stopped and panted against him. In his ear she whispered. "More," she whimpered and contracted her walls around him. "Please, I can't, it's not enough."

With a hand he pressed her completely back down, sheathing himself completely. Then he planted his feet, raised his hip withdrawing, then slammed back to her.

Herian screamed in his ear, though not so loud it hurt, her eyes went wide and all she could do, was grab his shoulders tighter, and was stare unseeing that the headboard.

One hand stayed on her butt, the other came around her back and held her to his chest. He drew great deep breaths in time with his pounding thrusts, he could feel the shallow panting of her breath as she desperately tried to keep air in her lungs.

Stroke after stroke, he bottom out within her, only to withdraw and slam back, the pace as swift. As her slow one had riled him up so completely, had he not been holding her down the force of his strokes would have bounced her away from him.

Herian gripped her fingers into his shoulders and came with a high cry, her pleasure turning her into a puddle.

"Gods." Ned grunted, and moved faster again, then followed her other with a groan.

The elf trembled as she felt his cock twitch several times, filling her with his seed.

Ned stretched out his legs and pulled the fur blanket back over them. Under the blanket he ran a hand up and down her back, enjoying the feeling of the completely relaxed elf against him. They should really talk about this, he thought, but at the same time, he really didn't want to. If she chose to start sharing his bed, then he would have no complaints whatsoever.

Herian breathed deeply enjoying his male musk, all the hard planes of his body against hers, the feel of the coarse hair of his chest, against her breasts. He was very warm, even thinking about moving filled her with dread.

Eddard wanted to fall asleep, but he didn't dare in case she tried to leave. He had noticed she had a habit of running from she didn't understand, and he wouldn't see her again till she figured it out.

The elf slowly sat up and her gaze flicked to the door.

That had been what Ned was wanting for, his free hand took her head and pulled her down for a kiss. He quickly deepened it before she could think about fleeing.

Herian moaned against him, to tired to fight, they moved together in unison. Ned rolled her under him, keeping their hips together, enjoying the feel of her around him. He drew back slowly breaking the kiss, lips hovering just above hers. "Stay with me." he whispered.

"Do you even know what you want?" She said softly back.

Eddard paused for a moment, she could not be wife, not yet. He couldn't risk angering his bannermen, they all wished for him to marry one of their daughters. Even worse, Stannis was coming and only the Gods knew what he had planned. She was still too unknown to many, he would have to introduce her, present her. If he married her, that outrage would reach from the west to the east of the north. Shatter any hopes of a southern marriage, and put her in danger, though she was more than capable of taking care of herself. The best she could be right now, would be his lover.

On top of all that, did he love her? She was beautiful, caring, intelligent, and had gone to great lengths to care for his and his own. The elf was under him now, warm and willing in his arms, her warm inner walls still wrapped around him.

He rested his forehead against hers. "You can not be wife, for now." His heart was heavy with those words, a new ache filled it. "But I would have you and no other, if you will have me."

Herian wrapped her arms around his chest as far as they would go, leaned up and kissed his waiting lips. It was soft, their lips melding together, then she pulled away. He was a man near four and ten, she was only two and six, and she aged a near a fourth the rate slower he would. But since meeting him, month by month, striving so hard to keep him out of trouble. It would have been impossible to not grow attached. In her heart she knew she was setting herself up for heartbreak.

"As you wish." The three words left her lips like sweet song.

The tension fell from Ned and his heart swelled. Their lips met again, she wrapped her legs around the small of his back and he started to slowly make love to her.

* * *

They woke to a knock on the door, Maester Luwin' eyes popped open at the sight as he opened the door.

Eddard had spooned himself around Herian, a leg over hers, one hand positively gripping a breast, his face tucked into her hair.

The elf was out cold and purring softly.

"My Lord?" Luwin called out softly.

Ned groaned and hugged Herian tightly, then slowly opened an eye and mumbled. "Morning Maester."

"A raven from Lord Whitehill my Lord." Luwin said softly, choosing to try and let the elf sleep. The Old Gods knew she didn't enough.

Ned raised a hand, Luwin crossed the room and gave the letter to him.

Ned popped it open with a hand and rolled it out, Lord Whitehill was asking for help some monster had been eating his people. Ned looked down at the sleeping elf, there would be no keeping her out of this. "A monster." He muttered.

Herian mumbled her way into awareness. "Someone say gold pouch?" She blinked sleeply up at her Lord.

Ned chuckled and gave her the letter, his hand findings its way back to cradling a breast.

The elf read over the letter. "He doesn't give much does he? Monster eating my small foke, please send assistance."

"Not everyone knows what to look for." Ned said and kissed her shoulder.

Herian groaned and let her head fall back into the pillow. "It's too early for this."

"I quite agree, you are dismissed Luwin." Ned resisted the urge to start on a more enthusiastic massage.

"As you wish my Lord." Luwin departed in speed, he had never seen his Lord so forward, that said Herian seemed to be welcoming the attention.

Once he was gone Herian rolled over in his embrace, and let out a soft purr. "He looked surprised."

Ned started planting small kisses on her neck. "I imagine quite a few people will be."

"Hmmm. We probably shouldn't announce this, though I don't see a reason to keep it a secret either." The rub of his beard was almost as pleasant as his lips.

"So don't deny it, but don't shout it off the top of the ramparts. Sounds like a plan, what about you? I don't see you ignoring Whitehills summons." He kissed his way down to a breast.

"I am not going to race out, if that is what you are thinking. Jon will want to come and he will need armour. Harimand gave me digrams and supplies. I just need to give the lot to Mikken, and oversee it. Then we will go. I have no idea what kind of monster it could be at this point. There are many that eat humans." She let out a soft sigh as he kissed her skin.

"Do I even want to know?" Eddard nipped the flesh just below her collar, the uppermost start of her breast.

Herian started to traced circles on his shoulder over a bolt scar. "Probably not, the list is rather long. This could be anything from a Necrophage, to a Relict or maybe someone's been cursed."

"Cursed?" Ned ran his tongue over a nipple.

"Lyranprophy is classifed as a curse, it is what I have, though I got it through my bloodline. Hircine's werewolves are different than the usual curse, as we are not cursed just infected. Most lyranprohpies outside of his chosen have been cursed by someone or something. The right words, with the right intent is all that it requires." She purred softly.

"Sounds unpleasant." He parted her legs with a hand and moved between them.

She hooked her legs over the small of his back. "When we are having a really bad day I will tell you about Botchlings."

"I would like to learn." With that they ceased all conversation.

* * *

Eventually they rose, and ignored the pointed looks from the household. Herian dressed in her Witcher Wolf armour and experimented with adding layers of fur and cloaks. Eventually she picked up her chest of materials and headed out to visit Mikken.

The blacksmith was banging away on a horseshoe when she approached. "Mikken." she greeted respectfully.

"Lady Herian." Mikken, quenched the the finished horse and viewed the chest with a raised brow.  
Herian didn't bother to correct him and walked to his work table. He cleaned it off as she popped the chest open and pulled out a rather large stack of diagrams. She flicked through them and pulled out the most basic level of the armour, and offered them to him. "Witcher School of the Bear basic design."

Mikken took the papers and looked them over, Herian was silently glad for Harry's translating charms. "You have all the parts? Both metals and monster parts?"

She pulled out a dark steel plate and offered it to him. "Aye, this chest has everything you need plus spares. Harimand is very good at planning for disaster."

Mikken flipped to a new page, the instructions were very detailed, really everything a smith needed. "I think I can help you. It shouldn't take more than a day or two, this is for Jon?"

Herian nodded. "Trouble brews, and I don't dare involved him till he is properly equipped." She pulled out another set of papers. "These are a enhanced version," she handed him the papers. "If you have time to work on that while we are gone, I would appreciate it. I have diagrams and supplies up to a master craft level."

The blacksmiths brow rose and set the papers down laying them out by type. He took the last of the papers from Herian and set them out to study. He looked at them for a long moment, follow the steps of development the armour had undergone over time. Excitement grew in his breast. "These are genius." He pointed at the collar of the last design. "I could change that to a thick fur, line this as well. You do not wear these though?"

Herian shrugged. "My style involves keeping out of my preys reach. As you can see, bear style is more about taking the hit and keeping control of yourself. While I will focus on the use of my sword, bear style will have a greater focus on the use of sighs and magic. It's just a different way to focus your energy, Jon is much more of a," she paused musing over her words. "Grounded fighter then myself."

Mikken nodded still reviewing the pages. "You are right there. Stay and help me, you have watched your smith's, between the two of us these won't take long."

"I'll fetch Jon, we'll need measurements and maybe steal Sansa from her Septa, she is much more gifted with a needle then I am."

Mikken nodded. "Be swift."

All of the Starks were in the training yard, Bran and Ayra were having an archery competition. Robb and Jon were egging them on and Sansa was watching while still trying to be a Lady. Herian couldn't help but notice since their return from Kings Landing the Stark pups had grown closer to each other. Sansa was no longer calling Jon her half brother and was much more welcoming to the bastard.

Sandor Clegane was standing off the to the side, watching over them all.

"Jon, Sansa, I need your help." She called out to them, though she didn't have to raise her voice.

"Oh?" Sansa hopped off her barrel.

Herian grinned. "Time you make you some armour Jon, and Sansa is much more gifted with a needle then I."

Jon smiled broadly, first he earned the wolf blood, now armour.

"Can we come?" Ayra asked.

"I don't see why not." Herian said.

"I've never worked with leather." Sansa said softly.

"You'll learn, I do know of it. Not much, but I can fix gear when on the road." Herian flicked her head the Ayra and Bran, put their bows away and Robb picked up Rickon.

Mikken smiled when the elf and her pups returned. The Starks unofficial hound picked a shadow to watch them from.

"I will set about the gauntlets and boots, you and your helpers can work on the overcoat. But first, arms out at the shoulder Jon." Mikken picked up a measuring string.

Jon walked around the forge and raised his arms as instructed.

"Better to give it some growing room, though I am sure we shall have to go through this again in a few years." Jon was almost fifteen, he still had a long way to go.

"Close enough to function correctly, but large enough to grow into." Mikken nodded agreeing, he added several additional lengths to all his measurements.

Ayra and Bran had retived stools for all the them, and Robb set Rickon down on his lap. The forge was hot, a hot forge and a four year old did not go together.

While the Starks and Herian arranged themselves out of the way Mikken set about cutting the long over coat that would be the base for the Bear School gear. Then under both Sansa watchful gaze, she and Herian set about sewing the pieces together. By the time they were done that, Mikken had finished with the leather strips that would be sewn to it.

"I've never seen armour like this before." Robb commented watching his sister and the elf work, Ayra was watching as well swinging her feet.

Herian paused and lifted the metal mail outer jerken, to reveal a leather striped coat underneath. "It's not much good against human weapons, but the layers and style worked quite well against most monster claws." She returned to her work.

"Many layers." Robb commented.

"Aye. This is just the basic foundations, later we will add mail and plate. It will be heavy, but still lighter than your style of armour." Herian commented not looking up.

Jon picked up the sleeve and tested the cloth between his fingers. It was very thick, but not wool, at least not completely. "So you can't make armour?"

"Just fix it." The elf confirmed.

Jon picked up a spare needle and a leather strip.

"Fold the sleeve in half then start a thumb width inward." Sansa said.

Jon did as instructed then had a tried and failed to keep it so, as he tried to line up the leather. "Ayra could you help me?"

"Sure." She picked up her stool and moved to sit beside him, then held the sleeve tight while Jon started to copy Sansa stitches, though much more slowly.

As the elf watched, the three Starks worked through putting the attire into one piece. Jon and Sansa did most of the work with their needles, carefully stitching the pieces of leather back into place. Ayra assisted when where she could, but while not helping, the girl bounced up and down in anticipation. She could only imagine what the armor would look like once finished. Once in awhile, the girl spared a glance at Herian and smiled. If the new clothing looked even a tenth as intimidating as the Witcher's own, then she wouldn't find an ounce of complaint in whatever her siblings would have her do.

Maybe after they were done with Jon's, perhaps they could make her some? With all the heavy coats and attire that was needed in the North, something a tad more intimidating wouldn't have been too much to ask for. Surely it wouldn't require nearly as much fabric as her brother's would, that's for sure.

"I've never seen clothes like this before," Sansa noted as she stitched, "Where did you come across it? It doesn't seem like something from anywhere around here."

Herian shrugged, "The Wolf School collects the arms and techniques of the others, we are the only school left, but several of our members are old enough to know the techniques of others."

"And yet you don't know how to stitch a few pieces of leather together?"

The elf smacked Jon over the top of his head with a glare, "Never had to before, and a few coins to someone who would do it much better than me often doesn't hurt. My own attire often only require a patch here and there. Of course, if that is how you feel about it, I suppose we could make someone else some armor first."

Herian turned to Arya, "How about you? Would you appreciate something of the like?"

"Would I-!"

Before his sister could finish, Jon raised his hand and dismissed the thought, "Now, I never said that. I was just curious. It is often hard to imagine you not knowing how to do something as trivial as this."

The Witcher rolled her eyes, "I know how to do a great deal of things, but not everything. If I wanted to know how to make my own clothing, I would. But if I did, then there wouldn't be much for you to do, now would there?" She smirked, making things just wasn't her thing, fix, yes, make no, she'd leave that to the experts. Plus between her Grandmother and Chani, she didn't need to make anything. On top of that she hadn't reached that settling point of her life where she would look for a less life threatening trade.

A subtle twitch crossed Jon's face. Instead of replying however, the Stark wisely turned his gaze back to the work he had. Arguing with a woman like her would merely bring down more trouble upon the lad's head. If he had learned anything from his father, it would be that keeping your trap shut is sometimes the wisest thing you could do at times.

Herian huffed, "Wise."

"Herian." Robb asked. "Do you think the arrival of Kings Stannis will be the same as King Robert?"

The elf continued her stitches. "I imagine that there will be more people. King Stannis is visiting all the great Lords of the seven Kingdoms on the way up. So anyone wishing to do business with Lord Stark will likely occupy him. Safely in groups and all that." She loathed the idea of the Kings arrival.

"Why would anyone want to talk with father?" Ayra asked.

Herian looked to Sansa and raised a brow in invitation.

"Ayra. Remember our Septa's lessons?" Sansa asked.

Ayra nodded though she didn't know what that had to do with anything.

"Our Lord Father is one of the most powerful Lords in the Seven Kingdoms. Remember the Starks were once Kings in the North, many of the clansmen and other houses still view us as such. Warden is just a fancy title for King really, the only man our father has to answer too is the King." She bit her lip. "Now our father is without wife, many Lords will try to marry his daughter to our father now. We might not have grain to offer the south, but our father can call one of the largest armies in the Kingdoms. Not to mention the Ironwood. A Lord would try to win our Father in the hopes that our fathers new wife, would force our father to commit troops to any conflicts."

"Doesn't the Reach have largest army?" Ayra said.

"Yes, I did say one of the largest armies. Only the Vale, Westerland and the Riverlords, have equal armies." Sansa said.

"But with winter coming we have the home field advantage, what good is a bunch of Reach men, when they are freezing their bits off." Robb said.

Herian had to smile at that, weather and famine where the greatest foes to any army.

"So any lord from a lesser region will be trying to marry a daughter to father. To form an alliance, was that how it was with mother?" Bran asked.

Robb looked grimly at Herian.

"That is something you will have to ask your Father about." The elf said softly.

"Jon." Mikken called for the boys attention.

After a few tests and adjustments the boys gauntlets were done and Mikken set to work on the chest piece.

Bran was curious now and the elf could always be counted on for a good story. "Herian want are wars in your homeland like? Do you have Lords?"

Herian finished the last stitch of hers, Sansa and Jon were almost done as well. "I don't know, I've seen The Cavalry in action once or twice. But I was born after the last war, what I did as a Ranger was more along the lines of skirmishes. We do have Lords but each province has a different kind, though the job is always the same. In Skyrim you have Jarls, among the Dunmer we have the heads of the great houses. The Bretons of High Rock have a similar system to yours. Everyone is a bit different, but they all are under the Emperor."

"Do you know what big battles are like?" Bran asked.

"You never want to fight in a war, frequently they are pointless." She sighed. "When magic can be more destructive than a thousand men, it's even worse. The sides are always looking for the next great weapon, be it a dragon or a God. The return of the Nerevarine, created stability because no one wants to fight a god." Herian tucked a red lock behind her ear. "Please I don't like talking of this. I never saw the glamour in war, there is nothing glorious about it. It's about doing what is right, and doing it over and over."

With the wind unceremoniously yanked out of Brans sails, the Starks ended up talking about stories that Old Nan told them.

* * *

Eddard walked toward the main gate a tall northern mare following behind him.

Jon was just mounting up and Herian was stuffing more jerky into a saddle bag.

"Father." Jon nodded his head in greeting.

Herian turned to him and smiled.

Ned pulled her into a hug and they shared a quick kiss, regardless of who was watching.

"For you." He said, giving her the mare's reins. "She'll take good care of you, the most calm mild tempered mare in my stables."

The Lord had talked a length with his stable master before picking the mare out. Speed was less of an issue, more the mare had to be kind and calm. Picking had been difficult because northern steeds weren't known for their temper.

Herian approached the mare slowly, she did still have a strong dislike of horses, but the mare was very quiet, despite being huge. "Hello." she said softly and offered her slightly cupped hand.

The Mare lipped at her fingers in greeting.

"She needs a name." Ned said standing beside Herian.

The elf paused to think for a moment or two, then a grin filled her features. "Roach."

"Roach?" Neds brow raised. "I am sensing a story."

Herian nodded and walked around Roachs' side to mount, Nedd picked her up and placed her in the saddle before she could. She gave him a well meaning glare.

"Uncle Geralt always named his horses Roach, so now I have a Roach of my own." Her family seemed just a bit less far away.

Eddard heard the warmth in her words, she loved this uncle Geralt and was happy to have just a little something familiar. "Well I shan't keep you any longer. Gods go with you, come home in haste." He stepped to the side.

"As you wish." Herian smiled at him and gave Roachs side a squeeze and they set off for the Halls of Whitehill.

The home of house Whitehill was north of Winterfell beside the Long lake. Herian and Jon chose to follow the river, for it was Jons first time out of Winterfell without this father or family.

Herian didn't mind she rather enjoyed the sound of creaking ice. It reminded her of Skellige, and made her long for a ship under her.

Over the course of the week the forest gave way to barren hills, they stopped in a small town that was situated, the fork in the river.

The Inn was large and well made, clearly it had seen many winters. A stable boy was all too happy take their horses and coin. After he was finished staring at Herain.

When the Witcher in training and Witcheress entered the warm Inn, they could found it rather full. Small foke, and Whitehill men filled the log inn, the later were clearly waiting for something.

"Hey!" A mid sized blonde of pale skin wearing Whitehall blue shouted that them as he progressed across the tavern. "You're Jon Snow. Lord Starks bastard."

"Yes." Jon said in a voice he would have used near a year ago when addressed as bastard. Herian poked him in the side and he straightened up, he was going to be a Witcher now, being a bastard didn't matter anymore.

The man was only slightly older than Jon, he turned his gaze to Herian. Who had pulled her hood down.

"You are the ones Lord Stark sent to help? Only you?" He barked.

Herian had a feeling this one was quick to anger. "The letter said monsters, I am a Witcher. Trained as a monster slayer in my homeland, Jon is my apprentice. For monsters you need a professional not a bumbling garrison of troops. I'd rather not waste time on pleasantries. Where was the monster last seen?"

Gryff Whitehill did not like being spoken to like some kind of peasant. However the two strange swords on the elfs back and Jons monstrous blade gave him pause. Their garb was strange as well, perhaps there was something to them. "Just east of here there is a old farm house, abandoned after we found parts of the farmers. Not even half a days ride from the Kings road."

"What did the monster look like?" The elf asked.

"None of the small foke of have given a good description. Large, with stag horns and a furry back."

"Not another leshen then?" Jon asked her.

"No, well unlikely. How many attacks have there been?" Her voice started to take on a Witchers coldness.

"Many, we tried to track the creature for a near fortnight before calling on Winterfell for aid. Two homestead have been emptied by the creature."

Herian frowned. Not many monsters required that much food, not even Fiends. "Thank you. We'll check the farm on the morrow, go back to your castle lordling."

Gryff wasted no time obeying, he had to report back to his father.

* * *

The following morning was consumed with making their way through forest, to the farm stead. However Herian ended up well and truly distracted when the most horrible singing reached their ears.

"Little Johnny softly gazing, fire waning, pale. Pop! A spark jumped out and whispered… Listen, I've a tale…"

The elf reined Roach to stop and jumped off the tall mare. "Stay there." She told Jon and he nodded.

The Witcheress walked out into the clearing and rose to her voice loud and clear. "Whiskey! Slither! Ringworm! Rubbish! Bumblebee! Flabbergasted! Peter Piper picked Prince Proximo a pek of pickled peppers by the Pontar!" She raised her voice and shouted.

What in the Old Gods was this? Jon wondered.

"Herian?" The voice had stopped singing and a small boy tiny even peaked around a large tree. He quickly caught sight of the ashen skinned elf. "HERIAN!"

He raced over to the elf and leaped up to clobber her in a hug. "Oh its good to see you! I haven't seen a friendly face in MOONS!" He jumped back down and grinned broadly up at the elf.

Jon observed the the boy had dark blue skin huge round eyes with a gold iris on black, a hair pin-lip, with short brown hair with a wreath on top. He wore what looked to be cast of human rags.

Herian chuckled and knelt so she was eye level with boy. "Conjunction of Spheres get you too Johnny?"

"Aye, I was just going about my morning, defecating to the sunrise and boom! Here I was I landed smack in the middle of the forest. My bits were trying to freeze off!" Johnny spoke with a great deal of energy.

"Guess you've had to shorten your routine." Herian said.

"Oh yes, as much as I love the sunrise, I love my bits too." Johnny looked over to Jon and smiled with a wave.

"Say, Johnny have you seen a monster in these parts? Big with a fur pelt and antlers?" The elf asked.

Johnny nodded swiftly. "Big and bad it is. As big as a Fiend like the Ladies used to have, I've taken to hiding from it."

Herian thought for a moment. "Tell you what? Come with me, my Lord probably won't mind a nice Godling like yourself. I am sure you can find things to help with and you'll get a warm place to live. It's only going to get worse."

"Sounds good to me. This is no Velen, I miss my swamp, but living with you will have to do." Johnny nodded.

The three set off again, Johnny sitting in front of Herian. Eventually they came to the farm house.

Herian and Jon dismounted Johnny chose to stay up on Roach. They both feel into the silent Witchers walk but stopped before they entered the shack.

The elf pulled up her wolf, her eyes changing to gold and she sniffed the air. "Smell that?"

Jon took a moment longer to awaken his wolf and sniffed twice towards the house. "Carrion?"

Herian nodded and pushed the door to the shack open.

"Ugh." Jon wrinkled his nose but didn't cover it.

The Witchers moved silently into the room, bits of guts and bones had been left. The ground was saturated with blood.

Herian knelled and touched a print with her fingertips. "Shit." she muttered.

The print was more than twice the side of her hand and deep. Eyes still enhanced she looked for another print.

"Big." Jon commented following her gaze.

"Heavy, and tall." Herian corrected. "Look at the length of the stride and the depth of the print. Whatever it is, it's probably pretty damn nasty."

"They look a bit like deer hooves." He knelled beside her.

"Not unlike a Fiend, but there are no front prints. So whatever it is is bipedal, larger than werewolf. It's probably some type of Relict." Herian thought aloud her eyes roamed over the rest of the shack. Not much useful, though… "That's interesting."

"What?" Jon looked up.

"There are no intestines, or brain matter. Whatever this thing is ate, just about everything. Even monsters are a picky." She stood and took another deep breath, trying to sift the scent of the monsters from its prey.

"Come on, we should check outside." She rose with Jon in toe and they went back out, then around to the back of the house.

"Aye perfect." Herian said with a smile, her eyes followed a trail of tainted snow.

"Blood." Jon said.

"Blood trail." Herian corrected and whistled. Roach, still carrying Johnny and Jon's mount quickly rounded the bend. Taking Roache's reins, the elf gestured forward, "Come on then."

Between the blood trail and the monsters scent, the trio ended up moving drew south till dusk. The sun swiftly began to set, the air grew colder with each passing minute, and despite their attire, the two northerners began to feel chills crawling atop their skin.

"Should we set camp?" Jon asked as they entered another small clearing.

Herian raised her nose and sniffed. The air was thick with the scent of something. A creature, large, revolting, covered with a ripe scent. By how thick it was, it should have been right on top of them by now. Yet, there was nothing.

"No." She stepped away from Roach and walked out into the clearing just as a cloud passed over the sun. Sending them momentarily into darkness.

The force hit her fast and was huge, a clawed hand picked her up by the neck and sent her flying into a tree with a thunderous crack.

The elf felt her bones crunch and darkness filled her version. She slide to the ground and fell forward into the crisp snow. The Witcher started to pick herself, reaching up for her sword, only for the monsters to grab her by the neck again and pin her to the tree. Her head hit the tree, causing her vision turn white.

The monsters leaned in its teeth inches from her neck. Herian scrunched up her nose, Gods its breath stank. Her hand had just closed around her blade...

When its twist gnarled claws impaled her stomach with its free hand, it went in at an acute angle under her armour. It let out a low chuckle at the sick squishing sound of its claws cutting into her. Blood pooled around its claws, and Herian screamed in pain.

"HERIAN!" Jon screamed, terror gripping him, pulling the Ice Blade from his back and changed at the monster.

It turned to him, withdrawing its hand from the elfs gut, blood gushed forth. It released her and the elf fell face first into the snow with a dull thud, blood quickly pooling around her.

It let out a horrible bellow, and the cloud moved away.

Jon stalled in his tracks, it was big, bigger then he was in his werewolf form, maybe twice as big. It has huge antlers and a mouthful of shark like gnashing teeth. It smelled horrible its guts were gaunt, with all its bones showing. Its arms hung down by its calves and had long thick ugly claws. Its eyes glowed yellow.

The young Stark swallowed, fear growing in him and adjusted his grip on the Ice Blade.

A deep, echoing howl ripped through the air from the monster's throat. Standing taller in sight, the beast let loose a thunderous roar and charged. Each step shook the very ground beneath their feet, like an earthquake every second or so. The creature lumbered forward, charging straight at the boy with its teeth bare.

Thinking fast, Jon leaped to the side in a roll before turning and sweeping the Ice Blade into the monster's leg. The ebony blade caught itself on its hide and cut through flesh to bone before sliding off.

Regardless of the wound however, the beast let loose a huff before it backhanded the boy. Jon felt the monster's paw slam into the side of his face, throwing him down to the ground. By the size of the hand itself, the beast could have easily crushed the lad's head if it had wanted to. Luckily, the young Stark managed a swift Quen sign just before the bone shattering impact.

"CRASH." The sign, flashed gold with the impact.

Confused by the sudden light, the beast let loose another roar. The very air shook as the monster loomed over the fallen boy and raised both arms into the air. Howling with rage, the monster bashed down on the golden orb, over and over. Each blow slammed into the protective sphere, not unlike a hammer ready to pop open a freshly cracked skull.

The enchant on the Ice Blade roared to life, pulling magic from Jon. He could only watch as magic frosted ice, flowed out of him to mix with the sword, around his raised Quen hand more ice flowed from his skin. A blue hue covered the blade from tip to hilt, a frozen allure that bit deep into the boy's skin. Flakes of ice, snow, and frost flowed off the metal surface with a thin fog fluttering in the breeze. The weapon looked as if it had a shadow, a white blur of frozen air haunting it wherever it's owner swung it. The lad even felt a slight crackle of frost creep along the very tips of his fingers, like icicles forming on the underside of his palm.

"AWR!" The teen dropped the shield and swung the Ice Blade across the monsters front. A great arc of frost followed the blade, like a shade of ice fluttering behind it. He stabbed forward and buried the blade in the monster's gut.

Spotting it's own blood, the beast knocked the lad clear away, but Jon swiftly recovered. He tumbled to his feet, gathering power and followed his instincts. The boy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reached out. Ice and frost erupted from his fingers, the spell gathered snow from all around him and sent it, like a concentrated blizzard toward the monster.

An explosion of ice and snow struck the beast dead center in its chest. The force felt like a battering ram running full force into the rib cage of the massive creature. With but one blow, it fell to its knees and the Ice Blade fell from its flesh. Despite such an eruption of force, its yellow eyes stared unhindered at the boy.

"Johnny get Herian!" Jon shouted focusing all his energy on the monster. It was so strange feeling the magic leave him.

The Godling spoke to Roach and the horse raced over to Herian and kneeled in the snow. With great difficulty Johnny heaved the unmoving elf into the saddle.

"Ride south for Winterfell. I'll catch up!" Jon was tiring but he wasn't going to leave without his sword.

Johnny spoke again and Roach raced away with the elf and Godling. Before the beast could even register what was happening, the three were gone, vanished into the forest with not but the sound of horseshoes clattering in the distance.

Jon slowly progressed on the monster. The sound of ice cracking followed his every step, each a calm inch toward the beast. It dug its claws into the frozen earth to ground itself.

With his foot, he flicked the blade up caught it with one hand. Sword in hand, Jon turned to the icy haze that the steel constantly emitted. With a heated glare, the lad turned on his heel and slashed a mighty blast of ice at the beast. In its swing, a shower of ice and snow slammed into the creature like a gust of wind, obscuring its vision and knocking it back a good foot or so. Despite the blow, it remained standing, through the Stark cared little for that at the moment.

Taking his chance, Jon called his steed to his side and raced to catch Johnny, hoping the ice would slow the monster. The second the boy mounted the horse, the two took off at a speed that would rattle even the most sane man's brain. Neither dared to look back, to see if the creature was still stuck amongst the frost and snow, if it had given chase the moment they turned their backs on it.

 **I wonder if anyone will figure out the monster, I made sure to give all the information that you need. Thank you to the five people who reviewed, hopefully we shall get more this time. :P Maybe someone will piece together what is really going on with the magic, nothing I do is without reason.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Same warnings as last chapter.**

Stannis

Jon and Johnny rode hard and through the night, slowly only to rest the horses. Then they finally stopped Jon wasted no time pulling Herian from her blood stained saddle.

"Herian?!" He shoved her hood back and felt her neck. The slow thump of blood pulsed under his fingers.

Johnny pulled a Swallow, potion from the saddle bag, Jon forced her lips apart and Johnny poured the potion down.

"Lay her down." The Godling said and made quick work undoing her armour.

A sick stench fill their noses.

Johnny poked carefully at the three gaping wounds, rot had already set it around the edges and he could see the festering spread from the wounds.

Jon looked down. "Gods." He uttered, having to look away and cover his mouth to keep from throwing up.

"The Swallow is not working, we'll have to get rid of the bad flesh." Johnny said.

"I'm no Maester, we should keep riding home. Luwin will know what to do." Jon wrinkled his nose.

Johnny nervously shifted back and forth. "Okay, between my magic and the cold, I can keep her from bleeding out. But we can't give her another Shallow, they need clean flesh to work, otherwise we are just wasting her energy."

"But if we feed her-."

"You can't give someone with gut wounds food! It will only make things worse." Johnny had see that once, the poor guy would have been better off dying. Johnny closed up Herians armour and Jon put her back in the saddle, using rope to tie her in place.

Again they rode at full speed and Winterfell came into view, halving the time it took leaving to return. Still the three days were the longest of Jons life.

As they rode into Winterfell at a gallop Eddard, Robb, Sansa and Bran were waiting, clearly Bran had been climbing again and had alerted the rest of the family.

When Eddard saw the ropes holding Herian in place his heart sank and he all but ran to Roach.

Johnny quickly undid the ropes before jumping off the horse.

Ned pulled Herian from the saddle, she was as cold as ice and did not stir. He pressed a hand to her frozen cheek and roared. "LUWIN!" Turning on his heel and sweeping in a great bellow of cloak back into the keep.

Jon pulled the precious saddle bags of Witcher potions from the horses and ran after his father.

Robb and Sansa were quick to flank him, Bran trying to keep up with their near run.

"What happened?" Robb asked.

"The monster ambushed us, it got Herian right away, near tore her guts out." Jons voice shook, the memory of the monster darkening his mind. The halls echoed with there foot steps and gossip broke out in Eddards passing.

Lord Stark slammed the door of Maester Luwins chambers open and placed Herian on the always waiting table.

Maester Luwin entered moments after, he feared that Jon had been hurt but seeing the elf was a shock. She looked like an Other from the stories, lips pale blue, skin white, but the clothes saturated with blood shattered the illusion. He hurried over and started undoing the fastening of her armour.

Ned helped being much more familiar with the elves garb, but ended up ripping the remains of her tunic out of the way. The sight made his stomach clench, and though he wasn't not aware at the time, frost started to form on his palms. He braced himself against the table and looked away. "By the Old Gods."

Luwin grabbed her wrist and felt for a pulse, thud, thud, thud. "She's alive." The old man was amazed, most wound of this nature, the men died on the field. He pressed two fingers to a rotting edge. Blood near black mixed with pus oozed forth, the ring of flesh outside the wounds were clearly frost burned.

The Stark children collected around the door minus Rickon, Ayra and Sansa looked like they might puke.

Luwin grabbed his maggot bucket and carefully placed a few of the insects in the wound. Within a few bites of fowled flesh they died. Next Luwin tired letches, again they shivered up and died.

"Poison." The man cursed.

Johnny having followed the whole while finally spoke up. "That would by why the Shallow potion didn't work."

Ned and Luwin looked down at the Godling.

"Who and what are you?" Ned asked.

"I'm Johnny and I am a Godling, I used to play with Herian when she was a kid. The Witchers potion Shallow heals all wounds, I've see her use it loads of times. Jon and I tired it on the way here, but it didn't work." Johnny walked around and grabbed the hand opposite to where Luwin was working.

The elfs breath and pulse quicken. "I can keep her from kicking the bucket for a while."

Jon rubbed his temples, poisons, poisons, he pounded on his head with his palm. He had read something about poisons. He pulled the potions bag from his shoulder and walked over the to table to rifle through it.

Thunderbolt, Cat, White Honey, Golden, whatever it was started with Golden. He pulled out a long vial of golden liquid and stared at it, it clicked. "Golden Oriole! Maester sit her up!"

Jon pushed past his father and pulled the cap off with his teeth.

Luwin did as the boy asked, clearly he knew something the maester didn't.

Jon pushed the potion past her lips and massaged her throat with a hand. "I was so stupid! Why didn't I think of this before!" Jon pulled the silver planted hunting knife off of Herians thigh. "You'll have to cut the bad flesh out."

"I have knifes-" Luwin started.

"But they aren't plated with silver, normal steel doesn't cut Herian easily. You need silver, I know it's not the best but." Jon pleaded.

Luwin took the knife and carefully started cutting shallowly. A hissing sound filled the air as her flesh burned when the knife contacted it.

Herians eyes snapped open and she SCREAMED. She arched like a cat, tension drawn through her sharply, her arms lashed out trying to shove Luwin away.

Ned launched himself forward, grabbed both of her arms and pulling them down her chest, leaning his weight down to pin her torso in place. He shuddered as she continued to wail, the sound pierced his ears, his heart contracted painfully. This was worse than listening to Cat give birth, at least Cat would curse, this was worse so much worse, this mindless cry of pain. It hurt to see tears gather around her eyes. "Robb pin her legs down!" He barked the order at his son.

Robb didn't need telling twice, but he only managed to pin one down. Jon tucked the potions bags under the table and grabbed the other.

"Is there nothing you can give her?" Sansa covered her ears against the elfs wail, tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

"Sansa her guts are open, the less we give her the better." Jon said, remembering Johnnys words, the Godling had backed off when Herian started flailing.

"But-."

Sansa words were drowned out by another long ear piercing scream, the whole Keep would be able to hear her.

Luwin set a piece of flesh aside and started again, both terrified and relieved when he found red flesh rather than black. Over and over he cut, Herian screamed till her voice was little more than a whisper, till finally a whimper, her strength failed and the Starks were able to let her go. The wounds were large and deep now, much of the flesh had died.

Jon and Robb sat on the visitor's bench, Ayra, Sansa and Bran all found ways to cuddle into the two eldest. Bran knew he was going to have more nightmares of the elfs screams then Old Nans stories ever gave him.

Luwin threw the rotten flesh into his hearth and set about boiling wine.

"I never want to see that again." Sansa whispered, watching her father grab a stool and sit by Herian. She saw the frost on her fathers' palm, but it was so slight that it didn't harm the elf.

Ned stroked his fingers through the knotted mess of red locks at the Witchers temples. She had fallen asleep again, the body could only stay aware through so much pain. Sleep caused her to relax slightly, Johnny came back and held her hand again. Her breaths steady grew deeper, her pulse faster, though there was little blood left in her to move.

Luwin picked up a clean cloth and a shallow bowl of water and started the slow process of cleaning her stomach. The blood was sticky, some fresh, some old as he cleaned he saw that the silver had burned her flesh, effectively cauterizing the wound. "Jon, what does silver do? Why does it hurt her?"

Jon looked up from Ayra, who had buried her face in his armour. "Silver brings pain to all monsters, cuts when steel won't, for a hound of Hircine, it burns them as well, slows healing but I couldn't think of any other way." There had been no time, if only they had been able to wake her. But three days of bleeding out, with only Johnny keeping her kicking had nixed that option.

"Hmmm." Luwin, trade his water for wine and started to carefully sterilize the wounds. The Maesters at the Citadel might be interested in that little fact. "Will she heal? Only once have a I worked on her before, then she healed faster than I could stitch. We can not give her milk and honey till her gut closes."

"I don't know." Jon said. "The book didn't say by how much silver slows a werewolfs healing, and I never asked Herian." He chewed on his lip, so long as he kept wolfsbane away from her it would be okay.

Luwin moved away again and collected a poultice. "Well we shall just have to watch her, in the mean-time a little cream against infection can't hurt." After applying it the past, he folded and pressed cloth to her wounds before binding them in place.

Eddard remained silent through the conversation, just stroking her temple.

"Take her to her rooms my Lord, there is nothing more I can do here." Luwin spoke softly and Ned was sluggish to respond. All the energy gone from him, the terror of seeing her and the adrenaline of getting her to Luwin, left him with little.

Slowly he stood and gathered the elf into his arms, cradling her to his chest. The children talked amongst each other but Ned wasn't listening slowly this time carefully he set off for Herian's rooms, only Jon followed after collecting the potion bags.

Servants and small foke wisely got out of Lord Starks way, whispered at his passing, eyes fixed on the ghost like elf and the tender look on their Lords face. Again Eddard shoved the door open with a foot and carried her over to bed.

Jon zipped in behind him put the potions on her alchemy table then ran silently from the room.

Ned carefully finished undressing her, pulling off armour, breeches and boots. Gently he picked her up again and slide her under the furs, pulling them up to her chin. He cupped the side of her head with a hand and stroked her cheek with a thumb. She was so cold.

A harsh broke sob, escaped his throat just one. "You can't leave me too." his voice was rough and full of fear.

She looked peaceful in sleep, so still and soft.

Neds heart couldn't take much more of this, first Caytlen now Herian, did all the women he loved die? Did the Old Gods wish to deny him love? He fell to his knees and hung his head, a hand found its way to her head and he stroked it. Herian loved to be touched, he figured that out very quickly, while they slept together he had taken to petting her thigh just to hear her purr.

As you wish, she had said, but both times he knew that she meant more than just those words. As you wish, I love you. It was all to new for both of them, neither had said such things, but having her ripped away from him. Had it really been fast? How many months had they been dancing around each other? He now felt those words, living without her wasn't an option, any man could only take so much before snapping. Cats death and Kings Landing had stripped so much of him away, the stress, the worry.

His Herian always there to protect him, shoulder the burden when he couldn't. Growl at those who challenged him, she kept half the people in that snakes pit in line with a growl. She was strong in a way that he had never seen before, she looked down at the Lords and Ladies. A King did not phase her, her home had similar systems, just what did her titles mean? Dragonborn, for one, he need to know more about her. One didn't get a title like Dragonborn and have it mean nothing. Dragonborns slay dragons, she had mentioned it once, but there had to be more to it than that. No common sellsword could look at a King and threaten him. That she could stand proud and strong with such ease. She was glorious in anger and action, beautiful in peace.

He thought back to their evening conversations, games of mocking the Lords and Ladies that fawned around the Queen and King. She liked to make up ridiculous stories about the Knights after the Tourney, just to make him laugh. The bath after their spar, how nice her hands had felt.

They had grown together after that fight, in tune with each other. He hadn't asked to spar with her again yet, they had grown to busy. Now he had lost the opportunity.

Eddard shook his head. No she wasn't dead yet, just pale and cold. "Please come back. I can't lose you too." He leaned forward and kissed her brow.

Roddick knocked on the door and quietly spoke. "King Stannis will be here in a few days my Lord, there are still many preparations to make."

Ned bowed his head. "There always are." He pulled himself away from her and it hurt, deep in his chest. "Come then, let us get ready to host another King."

* * *

The household of Winterfell start to tip toe around their Lord, Eddard Stark never had the temper of his elder brother Brandon. However the frost that had started to show whenever the Lords' temper was pushed, created rumours.

Whispers of magic, of the Others and the Night King, it was long known that the Barrow Kings fought against the Night Kings. Yet the Starks, Jon in particular, were showing more and more magic. Stories about his Blade of Ice, were quickly spreading beyond Winterfell. It didn't help that the teen had figured it out.

Jon stood in the middle of the training yard, the Stark guards standing in a wide circle.

He grew the Ice Blade of the Monarch and planted it blade down in the frozen ground. Frost gathered from the hilt and grew down the blade, the mud cracked and created snowflake like patterns.

He closed his eyes, and felt the Lay Lines, the grabbed at the lines and pulled the power upward. His eyes snapped open glowing icy blue.

"We are the north. The monsters from the old stories are coming back, Herian taught me that magic is in the land itself. Feel as I have learned." Jon pulled up the magics and pushed it through the guards.

A few of them fell to their knees, others eyes shifted over ice blue before returning to normal.

Jon grew the Ice Blade of the Monarch from the ground, the ice flared around it like in the fight with the monsters. Ice flowed from him to the blade, then grew around his hands to the elbow. He held it out straight pointed downward, then put his free hand over the crystalline guard. A wave of ice blasted forth sinking into the Guards.

One guard raised his hand ice curled around it, the guard clenched his fist and smiled. "What has become of the, elf?" The word sounded strange on his lips.

"The monster hurt her, she is healing." Jon said, he turned to the speaking guard, ice still coating him.

"What else did she teach you Stark?" Another guard asked.

Jon blinked, he was a Snow, everyone knew that, yet now they called him Stark. "She taught me to travel the woods with my spirit, to find and use the lay lines of the world." He spoke like Eddard would have.

"Teach us." Another said.

"I didn't understand how to use magic myself without her help. To wake my magic she took me to a place a power, she opened it with her magic, then she made me touch it. I remember it burning through me, but after I couldn't do much beyond her Witcher signs." He swallowed and turned so that all the guard could see him. Him Jon Snow, no he had grown, Jon Stark, standing tall and proud in fine Witcher Bear school armour. A massive blue blade surrounded by shifting glow ice and frost. "But when I fought that monster, when to tossed our Herian, like she was nothing. Our Dunmer, she who has done everything she could to keep as all safe. She didn't have to ride out to face a monster that she didn't know. But it was eating our people, what does it matter if they were Whitehill foke."

He raised his voice. "She always said, that Witchers don't work for free, yet she went out. If you ask her for her stories, her tales of places so different from ours. That you won't be able to wrap your head around it. Yet, yet those stories, are what our world is becoming. Winter is Coming. Change is coming, Herian woke in us, this gift of magic so we could defend ourselves. I don't know if she would want me to teach you, I don't think she understands our world yet. But when you walk in the lay lines, you'll find what I have. The Old Gods are real, and they watch over us, gave us this power. Our magic relays on our emotions, this," he raised a hand and flared the frost wide. "I only could do this after Herian lay dying in the snow. My terror gave me strength, let this free. You've all seen my father lately, the ice is always gathering around him." Jon took a deep calming breath, and quieted the ice around him.

"When I saw that monster, I saw what Herian has been trying to teach all of us. That we know nothing, that the mysteries of the world aren't know. To open our minds and really see. I know we've all looked at her and been afraid, because we didn't, don't understand her. I ask you now to try, she was just the first creature of magic for us to see. There will be more and if we don't pull our heads out of the snow and learn. We will fall to them." Jon hadn't planned this speech, but by the Old Gods was it having an effect.

The guard knew how formidable Herian was, how she could beat their asses without magic. Now she lay, fading away from one encounter, Jon was her student. He woke their magic, they could feel it growing in their breasts. It was time to stop being afraid.

"We are the First Men! We follow the Old Gods, and they have shown us their favour!" Jon raised the Ice Blade high. "Let me teach you, let us fight against those who would eat us."

All together the North men of the guard raised their swords! "We are the NORTH!"

Jon smiled. "Let's go to the Gods Wood, I'll show you the lay lines."

They gave a trumpet shout and followed Jon Snow from the training ground.

Eddard stood in an ev above the grounds, where he had watched the whole thing. He raised his left hand and let just a little of his fear for Herian, his frustration with Stannis out.

Frost thickened in his palm and spread out to over his fingers in an icy glow. It did not hurt, he flexed his hand, watched the ice flow. "We are the North." he echoed his men, and swept off in a billow of cloak to find Rodrick and Luwin, he need their council.

* * *

"But my Lord, should Stannis catch wind before he arrives. He will be here in a few days, to call a Moot, for when he comes. Northmen are not known for keeping secrets." Luwin tried to get his Lord to calm.

Eddard was passing back and forth before Luwins fire, Rodrick was sitting off to the side watching his Lord.

"Stannis is no Robert." Ned growled in his icy voice. "He is no Aegon Targaryen, either. I will not kneel to another southern King. They have taken my father, brother, sister and Catelyen from me. Had Herian not discovered Cersei's bastards, I would have lost Sansa to the south as well." He held his hand out and summoned up the frost for Luwin to view.

"There are no dragons, and no southern army can march with Winter Coming. Few men would be stupid enough to try. I can't stop Stannis from coming, but the Houses of the North are coming. If I tell Stannis no, they will follow. Mormont, Cerwyn, Reed, Glover, Umber, Manderly, Flint, Wull, Liddle, Bolton, we together are the power in the North. With the Lords and Ladies of these houses present, I can call a Moot and we'll pick our King. Like in the Old ways of the Free folk." He had always admired the Old Ways, and some among the free folk had a better memory than those on this side of the wall.

"And what if Stannis declares war?" Luwin asked.

"I will deny him his guests rights, till I give them to him, he is far game and he will know it. To declare war surrounded by Northmen would be very unwise of him." Stannis was not known for observing tradition, but if he laid Ice across his knee, the rest of the Northmen would know.

"My Lord this is dangerous." Luwin said.

"We bowed to the dragons, and the dragons are gone." Eddard said.

"Save the one you're bedding." Rodrick said with a smile.

A smile flashed over Eddards features. "Well, she is not a normal dragon."

"How is she?" Rodrick asked, he had not time to visit the elf, though it was a well known fact that if Eddard was not with his children or tending to his duties, he was at her bedside.

Eddards features turned cold. "A fever has begun, it has been five days now. She does not move, barely breaths."

"Her wounds are healing, albeit slowly. I am amazed that she still lives, that Godling, Johnny must be helping her." Luwin said, "It is hard to guess when she will be healed enough to eat, but.."

"She grows thinner faster than a human." Ned had noticed when her face grew thinner, , bones were starting to show when muscle had covered them before.

Luwin nodded. "If she wakes, recovery will be trying for her."

"She will wake." Ned said.

* * *

Outside the walls of Winterfell, the sun sat high in the sky. Guards stood watch atop the battlements and patrolled the stretches of stone that surrounded the mighty keep. The courtyard remained under constant watch, as the did the roads. Not a moment would go by without at least one eye on the stone pathway to the castle at any given moment. The chilled winter air remained an ever constant, sending shivers down the backs of all who stood watch. Swords remained in their sheaths, with bows ready to be notched when the time came. For many a year, Winterfell has remained an impeccable fortress, never to be breached as long as the North remained cold.

Inside the stone halls of such a fortress, echoes filled each corner from the highest tower to the lowest of cellars. Footsteps, marching, and chatter of all kinds bounced back and forth from one end of Winterfell to another. Men and women moved out of the way, nearly pressing themselves to the very edges of the imposing halls and corridors. Be them servants, of members of the guard, they moved out of the way of a grand crowd of people. Dozens, literal droves of men and women shuffled themselves through the massive fortress. At the heart of such a crowd were both men and women, varied in shape, size and age. An old woman with hair just a hint darker than snow walked alongside an older man who wore a sigil of a golden rampart with a lion roaring atop a crimson shield. There was also an elegantly dressed man with a short cut of hair and a moustache draped above his lips. Each and every person within the crowd knew of titles, names, wealth, and prestige regardless of where one stood in Westeros.

At the very front of the crowd of people, a tall man approached a large set of doors. Without a hint of hesitation, he swiftly slammed the doors open and walked inside. Behind him, a few select individuals followed swiftly. A tall, beautiful woman clothed in red, another who stood just as tall as the man yet could not compare to the lady in red, and a young girl with skin more akin to that of a dragon than that of a normal person's. These few and several armed guards followed suit after the man himself as they entered the grand hall.

Just a few feet from the a grand dining table, the man stopped. He towered over men around him and stared across the hall with dark blue eyes and a heavy brow. Over his chest, he wore a suit of grey plate armour that did little to take away from his imposing stature. His head had only a fringe of black hair like the shadow of a crown, along with a close-cropped beard across his large jaw. With arms crossed behind his back, the mountain of a man loomed near the entrance of the hall like force that had blown the hinges off the gates of Winterfell with nothing more than his entrance.

Across the grand expanse of the hall, a throne sat opposite of the doors that had been so abruptly opened. The armrests held two statues of a wolf engraves into the stone with a carving of a pair of swords on either side of the seat. Tall pillars sat on either side of the throne, and with them, several others stood at attendance whilst their guests arrived. Each member of House Stark were present, from the youngest to the oldest, as well were the heads of several Northern houses. The Mormont, Cerwyn, Reed, Glover, Umber, Manderly, Flint, Wull, Liddle, and even the Boltons, as much as one would rather not have present were in attendance. Each house stood off to the side, yet in reasonable enough range to the throne, which remained in the middle of all who dared enter the hall.

Eddard Stark sat atop the throne, his arms crossed atop his lap with his sword within his grip. Ice, his greatsword remained gripped between the lord's fingers, tight with one hand clutching the hilt without the slightest twitch. The Lord of Winterfell gazed across his hall and stared piercingly at the new arrivals. His steely gaze scanned all he could see, recognizing some whilst musing over who else still remained within the halls behind them. Some names came easy. Tyrell, Lannister, and Baelish stuck out like a bloody thumb dripping across the floor. Others were less significant but Ned found little need to familiarize himself with such people. Not yet anyway, for the lord had his eyes squarely focused on one man in particular. The one who dared set foot in his castle with neither permission or even a greeting to those who lived within it.

Stannis Baratheon, Robert's brother and the new lord of the Iron Throne, as it were.

Ned tapped a finger long Ices' guard allowing a small amount of his frustration with the situation to flow. Frost curled around the dark Valyrian steel, and flowed down its length. He was only sitting on the Throne of Winterfell, because there was no where else to sit, and he need to demonstrate that Stannis Baratheon was not receiving his guest rights. To say his bannermen were thrilled when he called a Moot was an understatement, though it was going to be a short Moot, more of a formality really. Everyone knew who the Lords would pick for 'King in the North'.

"Quite an entrance you've chosen," Ned spoke, his voice echoing across the hall, "I'm apologize for not presenting you with as warm a welcome as you might have hoped, but on such short notice, there was only so much I could pull together."

The sound of the Stark's voice carried its weight well across the grand hall, eventually reaching well to the ears of those opposite of him. Not a flinch or twitch graced Stannis as he was spoken to. Each and every word that struck him would often send rage boiling over every inch of the man's body. The tone, the mocking suggestion, and the looks directed at his direction. He could feel his hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword, it would gladly unsheath itself if it had the power to do so. But, regardless of his rage, the lord gazed over at the enthroned Stark and directed a heated glare in his direction.

"I did not come here for greetings or some sort of welcoming party." he declared, "There is but one reason I've stepped into this hall, and you know it well enough."

Ned leaned forward, "Indeed, that I do."

"You seek to have me kneel, to submit my house and these lands to you, as a sign of your new kingship over all lands that you consider your own now. You stormed into my keep and imagined it as a simple task to be held, with neither a pit or hole to cause you to stumble on your way."

The Stark narrowed his gaze, "That is it, is it not?"

"I am your King." Stannis ground his teeth, his eyes swept the room, saw all the northern Lords and Ladies. They stood facing him, all around the Stark, almost protecting. His gaze flicked to the greatsword across Eddards lap, the Valyrian steel cloaked in ice magic.

He felt Melisandre stiffened beside him, clearly seeing the magic as well. He had seen her magic once, her use of Kings blood, he couldn't help but wonder what she could do with Stark blood.

Eddard rose to his feet fluidly like a wolf, planted Ice tip the floor, his ice magic spending over the ground in smooth web like arcs. "NO!" He growled his grey eyes shining softly white, hard as stone. "You are no Robert, you are no Aegon Targaryen. The Northmen bowed to the Dragons and they are gone. I have called a Moot, we will chose our King. You will not have the North!" His voice boomed through the great hall.

Greatjon Umber chuckled and spoke softly. "The Quiet Wolf has found his voice."

"These lands, are ours. The Wall, is ours. Theses lands were carved by our hands, through frozen dirt and stone! With all your men and everything you could muster, the North will never bow. Be it us or the land itself, it is ours!"

Blood rushed to Stannis' forehead with veins near bursting atop his head. The man clenched his fists and could taste the copper texture of blood dripping from between his teeth, "The Iron Throne, these Seven Kingdom's, they are what decides who governs what. The North is but land and ice, not something that can decide this on its own. I now sit upon such a throne. I govern these lands, by order of the right bestowed upon me! You were once the King's Hand, you gave you're word to the King, and as your King, I will not stand for such mockery!"

Ned glared, "You are not, my King."

"I gave my word to Robert. I was his Hand for as long as I chose to be, that is fact. But you? You are not a King, but someone who wishes to claim an empty throne." he declared, "We have decided what is to be done. It will be by vote that a new King in the North shall be decided. You are neither the King of these lands or its people, no matter what words you might consider to help your claim of otherwise."

The Stark tightened his grip on Ice and huffed, "A King of the Seven Kingdoms, you might be, but while you might have stepped foot within these lands, the North does not see you as its King, regardless of what you may claim."

"You have the right accept that, or not. Either way shall be truth, but you'll find it rather hard to find someone among us who might align themselves with your way of thinking."

Stannis set his jaw and scanned the crowd again, there were no friendly faces. Robert had grumbled about how difficult the North was to control and he had Eddards help. These men and women were not loyal to him, they were loyal to the Starks, to the Old ways and there freedom. Was this frozen waste even worth it?

Eddard watched the thoughts go through Stannis head. "I will give you five days, to rest, do what business with us that you wish, we can revisit the trade agreements if you feel the need. After that you will leave with six Kingdoms." It was a very reasonable offer, Winterfell was still hurting from the last Kings' visit.

Stannis ground his teeth. "Agreed."

Without another word, Stannis turned on his heel to exit. He spared not a glance at Ned nor anyone else present. This King merely turned around and began to take his leave before his anger got the better of him.

Though as he made his turn to leave, a voice spoke up. A woman's tone broke the thick silence that had filled the hall after Stannis had reluctantly accepted such an agreement. The woman in Red, who remained calm, despite the growing aggravation in her King's tone, stepped forward and spoke up in Ned's presence.

"Before we take our leave," the woman spoke, "My Lord Stark, would it trouble you so much if I asked you but a single question, regarding something concerning thyself?"

Ned raised a brow. His gaze swiftly fell upon the woman, but oddly enough, his eyes seemed to falter. The woman seemed familiar, for more reasons than one. Her red hair, her attire, and the way she spoke to him. Each rang like a bell within his mind, but none seemed to click anything the Stark could recall.

Nevertheless, curiosity pinged within the Lord of the North, "Who is it that is speaking, and what is it that you have to say to me, within my hall?"

The woman smiled, "Melisandre, my lord, that is all, and what I have to ask is about a tale I've been hearing about lately. Just a simple matter that shouldn't take but a moment of your time."

"Then speak."

She nodded, "Of course. It is simply this, I've heard tales of a certain individual with your court, someone with a talent for doing things that would seem rather impossible to most, and quite vile to even more. It is but a rumour, I assure you…"

"But would it trouble my lord if I were to ask about Lady Herian, whilst in your presence?"

Eddards gaze narrowed and the frost thickened and grew around his hands, flakes falling like snow.

Jon sucked in a breath, the ice was almost what he had managed against the monster and he had a feeling his father wasn't afraid right now.

"Vile?" The word was spoken through a painfully tight jaw, his grip tightened on Ice. Herian was anything but vile, the feeling, the need to defend her rose in his chest.

Melisandre nodded, "Yes, it is merely rumours, as I've said, but the tales of what she has done has spread far and wide. Most obviously don't believe in such actions, they seem far too fantastical to be anything someone to do, outside of some sort of tale that is."

"But given I am already here, it is a matter I simply wanted to speak of you with, given the convenience." she replied, "The actions I have heard of could be considered quite questionable by normal means, and not something to waved about so casually."

Off to the side, Jon winced. Such choice of words were not the smartest idea at the moment. One look at his father and the boy could see frost swirling around Ned's hands. How he managed to keep his composure as well as he had before was one thing, but now? The Stark looked nearly ready to boil over.

And that, would not be good for anyone.

"What interest is Herian to you?" Ned growled out, he swiftly flicked Ice around so the flat of the blade rested on his shoulder. He wanted to know what people thought of his Herian. Everything about this red woman set him on edge, she was fire and he was ice. He took a few steps down to the open floor of the hall, coming closer to the woman, he was done raising his voice.

Melisandre raised a brow. As restrained as he had been beforehand, the woman caught a whiff of a strong scent of anger just pooling out from the Stark. She didn't focus too heavily on it, but the rage seemed rather sudden for such a simple question or two.

"Nothing much admittedly." she noted, "The tales simply caught my attention is all, I've merely wish to see if there is a bit of truth to them. You know how rumours could be sometimes, they grow higher than the tallest of towers if given a chance."

The woman raised her head, "Though if given a chance, I would like to see if it would be possible to see for myself, if you were to allow it."

The imagine of Herian sweaty and pale filled his mind, for the last few nights she had started muttering in her sleep. Twitching sometimes so violently that he had to hold her down so she didn't aggravate her wounds. The fever was taking more than she had left to give.

He raked his eyes over Melisandre, taking every detail, she was to perfect. There wasn't a single flaw in the woman, her amulet seemed to almost glow with fire. "No." He spoke in a frozen tone.

Melisandre paused for a moment, she did not expect a flat out no. Her eyes swept over the hall, there was no woman of blood red hair and ashen skin.

"Why not!?" Ludd Whitehill asked, he was annoyed that the monster was still eating his small foke.

"Herian is unwell, not in a state to receive visitors. I will not endanger her by allowing strangers to see her." Eddards gaze flicked to Lord Whitehill, the Whitehill visibly shrank. The stoney look the Stark gave him reminded him very strongly why the Starks had been the Kings of the North.

Melisandre gave a sweet smile, and shifted her posture, a subtle attempt to charm the Lord. "I have some talent for healing, maybe I could help."

"No." Eddard pulled his shoulders back.

"Come now my Lord. I just want to see her." Melisandre pushed, annoyed that her charms were not working.

Eddards temper snapped, his free hand shot out and he grabbed Melisandre by the throat and lifted her clear off the ground. The frost burned her, her skin quickly started to turn blue. "Leave her alone." He growled.

"Father!" Robb called, taking quick note of the changing colours of Melisandre's throat.

Ned dropped her, not bothering to help her to her feet. He swept away in a billow of black cloak, "You all of business to attend to, attend to it." He stormed from the hall.

Melisandre put a hand to her dark blue throat, Lord Starks hand was clearly visible on it. She looked up after the lord, amazement in her eyes.

Maege Mormont found the only encounter very interesting. "He acts like a man in love." She thought and resolved to pay extra close attention to the Stark.

Tywin Lannister the new Hand of the King helped Melisandre to her feet. "That was telling."

"Indeed, I did not expect such a strong reaction." She gingerly touched her throat. "I shall have to find another way to have my questions answered. If what Cersei said is true and she has dragon blood. She could be very powerful indeed."

The Stark children and their direwolves did not miss a word of this. The Direwolves growled at the red lady and Lannister, they had not forgotten the werewolfs' kindness.

Eddards temper had cooled by the time he got to Herian's room, softly he opened the door, closed and latched it behind him. He set Ice by it and walked over to the Witcheresses hearth, added a log and used the poker too arrange it best.

Then he picked up a chair and set it beside the bed. Johnny was out helping the small foke, there hadn't been so much as a sniffle among them since the Godling took up residence in Winterfell.

He dabbed, a cloth in a water bowl and whipped the sweat away from the pale elfs brow. "Stannis is here." He said softly. "You would be proud, I told him where he could shove his wish for the north."

Ned smiled in memory, and grew the furs aside. Very carefully he unwrapped her wounds and checked them, they didn't smell like gut anymore. Wetting his cloth again he cleaned the area around them, her hips and chest. "He brought a woman, Melisandre. She asked after you and I, lost my temper. Something about her sets me on edge."

Gently he touched the sharp bone of her hip, traced it up to her wounds, measuring the heat of her flesh. She was too warm, he cleaned the sweat from her neck but left the wound to air. "You are still too hot. Luwin doesn't know why you have a fever, there is no infection."

"Anyway, I picked her up by the throat and my frost burned her. That was more than a bit foolish of me. I doubt she will forgive me that." Ned cleaned out the cloth and set about cleaning the wounds again, trying to ignore how thin she was becoming. They were still too deep and wide to stitch but they were improving. "It has been eight days, please wake up. Most men would have died of starvation by now." He kissed her cheek. "I will ask Luwin to come and see you, maybe you have healed enough for milk and honey now."

There was a sharp knock on the door.

Eddard reluctantly pulled himself away and answered it, he was surprised to find the elderly if very strong Lady Mormont on the other side.

"Rodrick said I would find you here. May I come in?" The ladies manner was gruff and to the point.

Reluctantly Ned stepped aside and let her in. Maege was a short, stout, grey haired woman, today she was wearing patched ringmail over heavy leather breeches. She walked deftly into the room and her gaze fell on the exposed elf. "So that is the woman that had you near breaking that southern witches neck."

"Yes." Eddard said, closing and latching the door again. He walked swiftly over to Herian watching the Lady of Bear Island like a hawk.

Maege chuckled. "Calm yourself Lord Stark, I wish her no ill will. Though the stories do not do her justice."

"You should see her when she is awake." Ned said, he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out he traced a finger from her temple to her pointed ear.

"Is it true she roared at Robert? When you left his service?" Maege put herself in the spar chair by the hearth.

Ned smiled fondly. "Aye, I am sure the whole keep heard that."

"More like the whole of King's Landing." Maege said with a chuckle, watching the Stark. "You care for her." A statement not a question.

Eddards' gaze snapped to her.

Maege chuckled again. "I do not judge, my children were fathered by bears."

Neds lip twitched up. "Are your family truly skin changers?"

"Aye. Anything interesting show in yours?"

"We are wargs." He had pinned Old Nan down and she cleared his questions, that and his children were ecstatic to tell him about the wolf dreams.

"Aye, your Direwolves." Maege said, more pieces falling into place. "Many of my men and women are showing a gift for controlling the waves, others can cause the wind to blow."

"Only Jon and myself are showing a gift for ice so far, but Jon has taken to teaching my guard. Many are quickly quickly coming into the gift." Eddard said.

"Winter is Coming." Maege said.

"There is much more it it then that." Eddard said.

"Oh?" Lady Mormont asked.

"Herian comes from a family gifted with travelling between worlds. She said we are going to be a part of a Conjunction of Spheres. That is what the monsters are coming from, that magic is both coming and waking in our world." Ned had taken to reading some of Herians books over the last few days, or reading them out to her. Some were in a languages that he didn't understand, others Jon had translated.

Maege stared at him. "What else has she said?"  
"May things, she has the most incredible stories. She only just found this out, then Whitehill asked for help with his monster, now she is here. Jon said they were ambushed." He continued stroking the side of her face. "Herian is the greatest fighter I have ever met, I have not sent anyone out after the monster. If it got her, it would rip any lesser man to shreds."

"Very wise of you, though I can tell Whitehill is not impressed, but none of his blood are showing gifts so he bites his tongue. How long has she been out?" Lady Mormont gave the wounds a hard look.

"Eight days." Eddard said thickly. "If she can not eat soon I fear she will wither away."

"A just fear." Maege said, quite suddenly understanding why the Stark was so on edge.

"She will come back." Ned said, he smiled warmly at the sleeping elf.

Maege watched him, he was most definitely in love. A smile quirked her lips, the Northern Lords who had daughters had brought them. Watching Ned artfully avoid them had been humorous, it was going to be even more interesting to see what would happen when the elf rose.

 **Two reviews, are you guys easily traumatized or something? And not one guess as to what the monster is? You Witcher players should be having a field day with this mystery, I even went to some effort to write it like a witchers contract. Though it is NOT a Witcher monster, more eastern Canadian. Thank you** **BrutusSilentium and Rake1810** **for your reviews, I think I am going to resend that 100 review gift, cause once I did that you all stopped reviewing.**


	24. Chapter 24

Moot

Eddard stood before the Throne of Winterfell, in his finest clothing, Ice in hand. Before him was a large table, with a black wolf pelt on it. Raising his voice for all to hear. "For the first time since Aegon the conqueror, we shall choose our own King. A king must be wise. A king must command respect. A king must be brave. We've no lack of men like that. Let those who feel worthy of the throne of the North step forth."

Roose Bolton in all his pale countenance stepped forth from the crowd and placed a long thin flaying knife.

Murmurs went up from the crowd, few liked the idea of a Bolton King.

Seeing as Eddard made no move to place Ice on the table, Greatjon Umber came forth this his mighty greatsword and set it down over the flaying knife. "You know what we want Stark, don't make one of us act in your stead." He growled lowly.

"I have no wish for the throne." Eddard replayed.

Maege Mormont with her spiked club came forward, but instead of placing it on the table she pulled Ice from Eddards yielding fingers and put the Valyrian steel greatsword on top of the other blades. "Bear Island knows no King but the King in the North, whose name is Stark."

Eddard sighed. "Alright."

Umber scooped up his blade. "The man who wishes not for power, will wield it wisely."

Both returned to their places and Lord Stark spoke again. "May the best man win."

A murmur went up as conversation were resumed.

"And here I was worried you wouldn't put Ice forth!" A tall man with short brown hair and beard, walked up to Ned and clamped him on the shoulder.

"Gregor." Eddard said warmly and returned the gesture. "Enjoying your stay?"

"It is a nice change from Ironrath, more spacious for sure." Gregor the good, was a kind and brave man, and his house that of Forrester were among the most loyal to the Starks. A young woman of about ten and six lurked nervously behind him.

Gregor Forrester gestured the young woman foreword. "My Lord this is my eldest daughter, Mira."

Mira was pale of skin, clear complexion with long brown hair the same shade as her father. She curtsied and softly said. "A pleasure to meet you my Lord."

Eddard gave a short bow. "And to you Lady Mira."

"So how as the widower life treated you Ned?" Gregor picked up a tankard from the table behind them and took a sip.

"Well." Ned said much to Gregors surprise. "Though I haven't given it much thought."

"Must be cold now, back from that snakes pit." Lord Forrester said.

"Less than one would think." Eddard let himself smile very slightly.

Gregor studied him for a moment, Lord Stark was well known for being a faithful husband, save his one bastard. He was not the type to take up with whores, but there was something in the Starks eye.

Eddard smiled tightly at Mira. "Worry not lady, I have no intention to remarry."

Mira gave him a shy smiled and breathed a bit easier.

"Don't tell the rest of the Lords that, I know both Whitehill and Glenmore brought their daughters and the Tryells. Lady Olenna keeps looking at you like you're a piece of meat."

Eddard glanced over to the wizened old woman her young daughter the same age as Mira beside her. He would admit that Margaery Tyrell was very beautiful with her soft features, but she was too young for his tastes. His gaze flicked to the elder Tyrell she had a very satisfied look on her features.

"I see what you mean." Eddard said softly. "I will tread carefully around them." He felt the desire to go and check on Herian. They had chosen to not hide their relationship and so far, no Lords had questioned him on it. That said most had only been in Winterfell for a day or two, it was just a matter of time. The Lord had only been spending the necessary time with his vassals, and avoiding the surplus of daughters like the plague.

Lord Stark had to suppress a groan with the Tyrells approached with charming southern smiles.

Margaery curtsied while her Grandmother leaned on her cane. "My Lord Stark."

"Lady Margaery, Lady Tyrell." Eddard bowed to each in turn.

"A fine show you have put on Lord Stark." Olenna Tyrell said.

Eddard did not like her, Olenna was well known for her sharp tongue and he would rather it not be turned on him. "I have only adhered to the Old Ways."

"Ah yes, you Northerners and your 'Old ways'." Olenna scoffed.

Eddard raised a hand and let ice flow around, he flicked a snowflake at Margaery. "They have served us well."

The flake landed on the young ladies cheek and she shivered.

"How has the North been treating you Ladies?" Eddard asked, watching both carefully. "I was surprised to see Tyrells among Stannis party." He lowered his hand and quelled the frost.

Olenna spoke. "The North has always had the support of the Vale, but with Catylen gone and Baelish in control, we thought to extend a hand. The North would benefit greatly from a Tyrell alliance."

Lord Stark did not like where this was going. "The Reach is rather far to be of use." Though the food that grew there would be invaluable in the coming winter.

"We ship most commonly by boat Lord Stark, distance is of little matter." Olenna said in a consoling tone.

"If you wish to form new trade agreements, then we can do so later. I would have to call my council, I would also prefer to wait till Stannis is gone and the Moot concluded." There was too much going on as it was, and the thought of being alone with the Tyrells did not suit him.

"After you are King in the North." Olenna said and waved a hand at Eddards stoney look. "Come now, few will vote for Bolton when they have a Stark."

"She does have a point Ned." Gregor said, sipping his ale. "Had Mormont not stepped in the vote would have gone to Umber, but the Starks are the Kings in the North. Your reluctance to take the job will only make them quicker to give it to you. Not like it shall be any different than Warden of the North."

"That was hardly the point." Lord Stark said lowly.

"No one missed your point Lord Stark." Olenna said. "Perhaps a private dinner on the morrow, at least get the piliaries settled."

"Alright." Eddard said, making mental note to make sure Rodrick was on hand.

* * *

"Why did Maege take Ice from father?" Ayra asked Syrio Forel.

The lean, bald, hawk nosed man said. "Your Father did not intend to compete for the throne. Lady Mormont made her position clear."

"True seeing?" Ayra asked.

"Yes." Syrio said with a smile, the girl was quick study.

"What are we doing today?" Ayra asked.

"Your father has asked us to keep an eye on his love, so we will be practicing in the empty salor down the hall." Syrio did not mind the change of location, it was far too cold for the Braavosi man.

"Why did father ask you to look out for her?" Ayra was used to Herian looking out for herself, even in the elfs current state, she couldn't imagine anyone being foolish enough to bother her.

"Lord Stark is a wise man, he fears for the woman. He can not always protect her, and their are many strangers in his hall." Syrio lead them away from the hall to the Great Keep.

Ayra had to jog on occasion to keep up with the water dancer, on the way to the empty salor. They stopped by Herians room, Syrio silently opened the door and peeked inside.

Ayra poked her head around the corner to catch a glimpse of the elf, she hadn't seen her since she had been brought in. She slipped around Syrio and ran to the sleeping elf.

She pulled back the furs and poked at the bandages, Eddard had changed them before he left so they will still clean.

Syrio had not met the elf prior, her duties to Ned kept her running day after day. Less so since their return to Winterfell, but their paths rarely crossed. "She has a dancers body." he commented.

Ayra nodded. "You should have seen her before, father and her battled for ages."

"Well matched they must be." He said, he meant more than just the physical sense.

"Yeah." Ayra tucked the furs back around her. "To the solar!"

* * *

Sandor Clegane, Sansa Stark and Lady, were taking a turn in the Godswood. The southerner was uneasy in the forest, but the relaxed state of his little bird eased some of the tension.

"You need not guard me everywhere Ser, Winterfell is not Kings Landing." Sansa said softly. She had long since stopped being so afraid of the man, he was oddly softer away from Kings Landing. He drank and snarled less.

"I am no Ser. Winterfell may not be Kings Landing, but the Landings snakes are here." Sandor said with a growl.

They approached the Heart Tree, Sansa smiled at the familiar tree.

Sandor stopped at the far side of the black water pond, Sansa walked around with Lady and put her hand on the white bark.

The tree was warm to the touch and it made her feel good, not hyperaware as it had with Eddard and Herian, but good nonetheless. "Do you follow the Gods?" She asked not removing her hand but turning to look at the huge man.

"No." Sandor said, no gods had ever answered his prayers.

"Hmmm," Sansa sat tucking her skirts around her carefully, she traced a circle on the tree. "Would you please come sit Ser?"

Sandor growled at the use of title but didn't bother to correct her again. Instead he carefully picked his way around the pond, normally he would have just stomped around, but there was no denying a magic to the Old Gods.

Sansa patted the ground across from her.

The hound tried to glare but only half succeed, so instead he sat like a good dog and pulled a gauntlet off.

Lady came up and sat beside Sansa, leading the young girl her warmth.

Sandor tired not to hesitate, but he did, the moment his fingers touched the cold skin of Heart Tree...

He found himself there, but not, a force moving through him, studying him, gently digging through his mind. Sandor tired to pull his hand away but it did not obey, he stared unseeing forward. Slowly the foreign force let him ago and he found himself staring into the bright eyes and smiling face of Sansa.

It was almost unnerving to have her look at him so unshielded.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" Sansa said with a smile.

Sandor removed his hand but allowed himself to lean against the tree. Where it had once felt cold, it know felt warm and soothing. "Strange." Was all the gruff man said.

The wind picked up and played with Sansa hair. "The Old Gods like you." She tilted her head so the wind brushed over a sharp cheek.

"You would know more about that than me little bird." Sandor he was strangely relaxed.

Sansa giggled. "Herian and Father both touched the tree together. Lord Robert said she sang so loudly that he could listen the whole way out of the Godswood."

Sandors lips twitched, he had heard that too, he had to hand it to Eddard. He doubted any man had made that elf sing before, he raised a brow at Sansa, wondering what she was thinking. The girl was only thirteen, but Herian had not the tightest tongue sometimes. "Careful girl, if the wrong person heard you say that."

"When Herian wakes up it won't matter." Sansa couldn't wait for her to wake up.

Sandor looked up when the sound of crunching leaves reached his ears, he scowed at the sight.

Lord Baelish, Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale of Arryn was walking towards them, he stopped on the far side of the pool and looked at the pair critically. "Evening Lady Sansa, does your Father know you wander with a Dog?"

Sansa glared at Petyr much to the man's surprise. "Don't call him that, and yes Father does know." She buried a hand in Ladys' ruff.

Since Robert was hiding from his brother as much as possible it freed up Sandor to do as he wished. While he was not sworn shield to Sansa, Eddard was grateful when he offered to look out for her while the court was in Winterfell.

Petyr gave her an easy smile and attempted small talk. "I take it you are free of Joffrey now."

"Yes, father dismissed the engagement when Jofferys' bastard status became known." Sansa held her head up high, like she had been taught, this wasn't Kings Landing she could speak plainly.

Petyr walked around and seated himself on a flat rock. "Has your father arranged a new marriage for you?"

"No, I asked once, but he said he was against marrying me to Joffery to begin with. He wishes to wait till I am of age, and when he kind find a man 'worthy of me'." She rubbed little circles in Lady's ruff. "I am glad, Kings Landing taught me that the world is nothing like the songs. Well maybe like Herians' songs, some of hers are quite.."

"Violent?" Sandor offered. "Truthful?"

"Let's go with those." Sansa smiled at him.

Petyr pursed his lips, but smiled. "I see, well I must be off." He got up and swept away.

Sandor glared at the retreating man. "Be wary of that one little bird."

Sansa shivered, but not because of the wind. "I will be."

* * *

Herian slowly opened her eyes, blinked and was assaulted with pain. Her wolf screamed at her, so hungry starving, get up, move, food! She let out a whimper and raised a hand to her stomach, a tunic and fresh bandages greeted her fingers. Her eyes fluttered about the room. Home, she finally figured out, the last thing she remember…

"JON!" The word cracked out from cracked lips and a dry throat, a hoarse whisper. She rolled to her side and almost feel back asleep, she was so tired, so weak. Her wolf pulled forward, "FOOD! We are dying you idiot, get up and feed us!" It snarled in her mind.

Her wolf grabbed the reins and made her get up. "Stay awake, you fall asleep again and we die."

"Yes, yes." Herian muttered allowed, she couldn't recall the last time she did something so stupid that her wolf got this pissed. Slowly she moved her legs over the edge of the bed and scented the room. Ned was the first and strongest scent, she turned to look at the slightly mused empty side. He had been sleeping by her, her eyes scanned the room falling on a book beside the bed and reading to her. How long had she been out? Other scents in order of strength, Johnny, Luwin, Jon, the rest of the Stark pups, other scents she didn't know.

She reached up and grabbed the Moon-and-Star amulet. "Harry?" Nothing, she licked her lips panic growing. "Father, Grandmother?" Her amulet was silent there was no warmth, no burst of healing magics.

Panic swelled in her chest, no one was answering! That had never happened before, there was always someone. Herian started to hyperventilate, where was everyone? She took in the scents of the room, they were here? Why weren't they here now? She swallowed thickly and tried to calm down, "Deep breaths." She managed two before pressing a hand to her middle. "Ow."

The ground was cold under her feet, she took a pair of deep breaths and stood. Then promptly fell, she crumpled down beside her bed, she grabbed the furs in an half successful effort to stay upright. "Fuck." she whispered, her legs felt like lead, she panted leaning against the bed. So hungry, so tired. Where was everyone?

She looked up at the bed and heaved herself back to her feet, falling flat onto it and panting. Pain bloomed in her belly and made her see stars, annoyingly her feet were still cold. She panted. "Right, boots, then food." she was grateful to whoever dressed her, she didn't even want to think about how much effort it would be to get breeches on right now.

She pulled herself along the edge of her bed and grabbed a bed post to lean on to stand straight. Herian had to stop and regain her breath, everything hurt, she bet she had a great big purple bruise on her back right now.

The elf squeezed her eyes shut and fought away the imagine of the monster, now was not to time to think about it. "Boots, boots." She repeated and looked around the room, sure enough by the door were her casual warm boots. "Right." With a great heave she pushed herself away from the bed and stumbled over to the door.

She fell against in and let out a cry, why did everything hurt so much? She turned bracing her shoulder against the door, she had to use her arms to lift each leg so she could stuff her foot into their respective boot. Tears pricked her eyes, standing hurt, how was she supposed to walk? She rolled so her back was against the wall, her legs wanted to crumple under her again. Her stomach was a mess of pain, she touched the bandages again, they were starting to feel a little bit wet. "Fuck." she muttered exhausted.

Blindly Herian groped for the frosted latch and pulled it down, unlocking the door. Her arm fell to her side worn out by the simple action. Eventually she grabbed the handle and pulled.

The door did not budge. "Oh come on!" She yelled tiredly into the room. Pushing herself up with her other arm she jerked on the door and let gravity do the rest.

Very slowly the door swung inwards, grabbing the wall for support she inched her way out into the hall, leaning against the stone.

Talking, shouts and the scent of food filled her nose. "So that is where everyone is." Slowly she made her way down the hall, for once sad that she met no one. The warm stone was the only thing keeping her upright. Her free hand ended pressed against her tunic, it was slowly getting wetter.

Step by agonizing step, she made her way out of the Great keep. "Why is the great hall so fucking far?" She asked the stone. The Witcher couldn't even take the shortcut through the small courtyard, she didn't fancy falling into a snowbank. So she picked her way along the outer wall, though the empty corridors and the stone growing steadily colder. The sun was gone a cold breeze flowed through the hall.

Herian was about halfway to the great hall when she teetered and slumped against the wall, a hand clutching her stomach. "I can't." She whispered.

Her wolf pushed through her, taking control, her eyes changed to gold and adrenaline pumped through her system.

Sister wolf pushed herself off the wall and forced the elf's legs to move. Herian was awash in pain, sister wolf didn't care, she was hungry and not about to let the elfs weakness kill them.

The noise of voices got louder and louder, Herian stumbled into a door frame to rest. Before looking out into the full hall.

The Great Hall of Winterfell could comfortably sit around five hundred people, had she not been bleeding all over her tunic and pants. She might have appreciated it, but all she could noticed right now was the black and white splotches over her vision. The Witcher leaned into the door and grabbed it with a hand, her legs had had enough. The adrenaline was fading and she was so very tired.

With Catelyen gone, Eddard had moved Jon up to the noble tables. He was locked in conversation with Alysane Mormont a woman even souter then her mother and short, a large woman all around. They had been talking about what it was like taking a animal skin. Her skin changing into a bear, and his werewolf. When the scent of fresh blood filled both their noses.

Jon jumped up so abruptly from the table the force scent food flying onto the floor. Alysane was right behind him.

"You smell that?" She asked, her nose wasn't as good as his, to many other scents.

Jon took a long scent of the air and fear stabbed him. "HERIAN!" He shouted, his head on a pivot trying to find her.

Jons shout caused Ned to snap away from his conversation with Robert, his head instantly going through the same actions as Jon.

Herian was dimly aware of Jon calling her name, of Eddard shouting at people to move. But she knew if she moved an inch she would pass out. Her brain was moving a snail's pace. "Asuhm ohuhn ahn."

Eddard pushed the last man out of the way and caught her as she fell forward. Jon right beside him, he grabbed her wrist and felt the tired pulse.

Eddard cradled her shielding her from the eyes of the hall.

Jon patted her cheek. "Wake up, we can't help you. Tell us want to do."

"Akrn, kni Harimand iru, de nahilad." she faded.

"Jon?" Ned asked, holding her tight.

"Hurts, no Harimand here to heal." Jon translated, he rested his palm on her forehead. "She's fevered again, probably delirious with blood loss." He grabbed her chin. "Herian you must stay awake, how can we help you?"

"Harimand lken juli nahilnad." She slurred.

"He's not here." Jon snapped, he was getting desperate.

Herian started to sing at first the words were too distorted to make out, mumbled, bit by bit with each pass they got clearer. Her voice was rough and hoarse, a harsh difference from her usual quiet honeyed purr. "Vulnnera Sanenntir, VULNera Sanenturr, Vulnera Sanentur." Harimand had a beautiful singing voice when he was healing. She remember how calm he always sounded, how nice the spell felt. It had been made for one thing, a counter curse, but it work very well for others.

"What is it?" Ned asked, he hadn't understood a word.

"She was talking about Harimand, saying he was a good healer. I don't know what this is. It sounds like a song, but what songs only have two words?" Jon looked up at his father praying the man would have an answer.

"I don't know." Ned moved an arm under her arms.

Herian kept singing. "Vulnera Sanentur." Over and over, fading bit by bit.

Jon pulled her shirt up. The bandages were soaked through, shifting a finger he cut through them with a claw. The wounds were red and angry, his magic welled up inside of him at the sight, he held his hand over the wounds and tried to mimic Herians song, not knowing what else to do.

" _Vulnera Sanentur, vulnera sanentur."_ He sung softly, he felt his magic lurch into motion, gold energy danced around his fingers and leapt into the elf.

Luwin pushed his way through the crowd, Cressen at his side. Both maester stalled in their tracks and watched the elfs; blood flow sluggishly back into her.

In an effort to improve Jon harmonized with Herian. " _Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur…"_

Jon was tiring, this was so much harder then summoning frost, but the blood was gone from the bandages and he could watch as the gaping holes started to knit themselves back together.

Herian's voice grew stronger and Ned and Jon came back into focus, she turned her head so she could watch the teen, by his fifth pass he was growing very pale. "Enough." She called out.

"But you're not near healed!" Jon protested weakly.

"And your a minute from fainting, magic is never without cost." Herian let her head fall back into Neds chest, she was exhausted, hungry and still in pain. "Food." She mumbled to the Lord Stark.

Eddard carefully picked her up.

"Ow." She yelped.

"Sorry." Ned said, the crowd wisely got out of his way as he moved to the nobles table.

The Tyrells were there and no one said a word when Ned sat down in his seat, keeping Herian on his lap.

Swiftly he filled a plate as his elf rested against him. It was so hard to stay awake, but when Ned waved a cube of venison under her nose, well sister wolf woke up enough to grab it from between his fingers.

"Thank you." Herian mumbled around the piece of meat, her teeth changing slightly for meat slicing.

"I take it I am right in guessing meats are what you need?" He deftly sliced up the rest of the steak with one hand as his other stay wrapped around her, to support her back.

"Aye." It felt odd to be eating, but every time she near drifted off, Ned would wave another piece under her nose.

"No falling asleep now, you've been sleeping for nine days." Another piece of meat.

Herians' brow rose as she chewed, she was definitely starting to wake up. It also helped that she could feel her middle start to heal, now that it finally had fuel. "Nine days?" she said with disbelief.

"I was starting to worry."

A servant came by with a small pitcher of warm honeyed milk, a young woman who gave Herian a shy smile. This also happened to be the same servant that was keeping the kitchen up to date on the Lords budding love.

Herian managed a weak smile in return.

"Thank you." Ned said and poured some into a cup.

After Herian was finished what was in her mouth she softly said. "Molag Bals', bloody balls. Nine days."

Jon who had decided to stay close, and so was nursing a cup of mulled wine. Laughed, coughed and shot some of the wine out his nose. "Ow." he said rubbing his nose with a grin. "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

She cocked her head that the boy. "You moved beyond my assigned books?"

"With a title like 'The House of Troubles' I couldn't resist. Never thought I'd hear you swear by him." The house of troubles had been an unpleasant read, but very informative.

"Hmm." She managed to take the cup Ned offered and drank most of the milk in one go. It was very sweet, she could feel energy returning to her. Positive of a fast metabolism, once given food it makes fast use of it, negative it needs a lot of food. "I hope you learned your lesson."

Jon grinned. "Nope! Why do you have so many of the sermons of Vivec?"

Herian quirked her lips. "Slow down, and think it through."

Eddard was finding this conversation very entertaining, she was not even fully back with them and she was teaching Jon new things. He just kept a steady flow of food into the dunmer and dared anyone to comment with a glare.

"Well, Jon mused. "The sermons of Vivec tell about the history and creation of Vivec, they say he was the anticipation of Mephala. But his sermons always have some useful instructional piece of information. Never thought I would learn how to use a spear from religious tome."

Herian chuckled and clenched her stomach. "Ow, ow, stop making me laugh." She grinned and took another piece of venison from the plate.

Ned sat back and stroked her hip, still supporting her with his arm. He raised his hand up and braced her back as she chuckled. "What I am I missing?"

"Uh." Herian and Jon flushed, and the former spoke. "Context is a killer, what was in that particular tome is not for mealtime conversation."

Ned looked between the two. "You will tell me this story."

Herian grinned and sipped her milk. "As you wish."

Eddard slid his hand back down to her hip and pulled her gently to his chest.

Tired again, Herian leaned against his chest tucking her face into his neck and started to purr softly.

"Had enough?" Ned asked.

"Aye, to sleepy to eat anymore." She said through her purrs, it was the cutest sentence Ned had ever heard.

Lord Stark chuckled, and brought his other hand up to rest on her thigh. "I need to make you purr more often, that was too adorable."

Herian kissed his throat and purred out. "Cause that will be sooo hard for you."

Ned chest shook at the little in joke, and he smiled down at the silly elf. "Just wait till you're healed."

Herian's purring upped a decibel at the thought, which only made Ned chuckled again.

This whole conversation went down with the Tyrells sitting just down the table. Olenna was frankly floored to see the infamous Eddard Stark laugh, even more surprised to see his mythic bodyguard contently curled up on his lap to snooze.

Margaery covered her mouth with a hand to stifle her own giggles. She was but ten and six in age and had been brought to Winterfell to try and win Lord Stark in marriage. However she frankly didn't want too, the stories all told of Eddards cold eyes and frozen heart. But seeing him laugh, smile, how careful he was being with her. Maybe there was more to the Lord then stoney eyes.

Melisandre excused herself from Stannis said and walked up to the high table. The person on the Lord Starks lap half asleep wasn't anything like the stories. She was maybe five eight, small compared the Lord that towered near six and a half. Her skin was a pale ashen, but her hair was darker red than even the Red Womans. The elf looked frail and fragile against the Lord, her wounds hidden by her tunic and table, but the lady could see that every breath was effort. She was completely relaxed and purring softly though, it was hard to hear over the sounds of the hall.

The shadowbinder took quick notes of the Lord of the North, his arms were wrapped around the elf, supporting and shielding. He was more at ease then he had been since she met him, smiling, happy, talking with his bastard. As she got closer she could see how a hand was splayed over the elfs hip, possessive, protecting.

"They are lovers." Melisandre realised. That defiantly explained the foul mood Lord Stark had been in. She raised a hand and touched her still blue throat.

The Red woman took on a smile of easy confidence and walked up the steps to the high table. "Good evening my Lord." She bowed lowly.

"Melisandre." Ned glared at the woman and subtly pulled Herian closer, the elf gave a sleepy mumble.

"Greeting Herian." Melisandre addressed the elf.

Herian pulled her face out from its place tucked to Neds neck, turned so Melisandre was in an eyes view, and layed back down against his tunic. Her witcher medallion was trembling around her neck, Neds gaze flicked to it for a moment.

"I see the stories have been exaggerated, you are not at all like the tales." She had been expecting the fierce warrior that single handedly smited the Kingsguard. Not a woman shorter than her that looked like she would break if she fell down the steps.

The elf sighed and mumbled into Neds tunic. "Go away, I don't have the energy to engage in tinvaak with a glamoured witch."

Melisandre blinked sharply, how did she know? "Tinvaak?" she asked.

After a moment's thought Herian translated, "Conversation."

Jon chimed in. "I have been wondering, why do you do that? Change languages? Earlier it was dunmeri and that was dragon."

Herian closed her eyes and sleeply said. "Easier, my brain is not all there right now. Translating mentally right now is effort."

"Dragon? You speak dragon?" Melisandre tired to contain her excitement.

"Zu'u nal drey." She mumbled, sleep fast creeping up on her.

Jon took a drink of his wine and a huge bite of bread, even half asleep Herian could insult someone for stating the obvious. Alysane came over tankred in hand and grew Jon back into their conversation.

"Enough of this!" Greatjon voice boomed forth, "Let's have us a brawl!"

With a loud, booming shout, the hall grew quiet. Conversations died off into soft murmurs, cheers to soft chuckles, and the drinking? Well, it didn't slow down for even the briefest of moments. As the large man spoke however, many a men and women turned their attention to where the roar had originated from. There, quite a few found their eyes drawn to the large form of one, Jon 'Greatjon' Umber. The colossal beast of the man stood up from his seat and looked amongst the crowd. Ale still covered his large, thick bearded mug and a hint of drool could be seen dripping down across his tunic. Still, the Lord of the Last Hearth allowed his gaze to flow over all who were present, and laughed.

"Come on then!" he roared again, "All of this pitter patter and chatter is boring me to tears! I smell blood in the air! And enough of this seat gives me a feeling you lot do too!"

The bearded behemoth chuckled, "So?! Does anyone have the brass to take old Greatjon up on his offer?! Huh? Do ya!?"

Sandor Clegane set his mug down. "I'll met yeah." The Hound made his way to the empty floor before the high table.

Clegane and Umber stood near the same height and mass, which was a rare feat in itself.

Greatjon gave a huge bellowing laugh. "The southren Dog, sure. I'd enjoy putting you in your place."

Both men discarded their cloaks and looked up to Ned.

"No grievous injuries." Lord Stark said, he enjoyed a good brawl, but his best healer was slipping in and out of awareness on his lap.

Melisandre moved out of the way and picked a spot by Tywin.

"Such brutish northerns." The Lord Lannister said.

Melisandre nodded in agreement.

Ayra and Sansa ran to the high table and took their seats so they could see, Bran and Robb to found their way swiftly back up, getting crushed by the sea of people wasn't appealing.

Greatjon and Sandor stood three steps apart, and had stripped down to their breeches and boots, no since ruining perfectly good tunics in a brawl.

Sandor raised his fists to shield his face, sinking into a low stance.

The slightly drunk Umber gave another chuckled and got ready.

Seeing both combatants settled, Eddard spoke clearly and loudly. "Begin!"

Like a booming crack of thunder, the two larger than life men charged at each other, similar to the sight of two rushing bulls. Greatjon leaped forward despite his size and slammed one of his massive fists into the defensive stance Sandor had sunken into. The colossal hand felt like a small explosion being let loose among the thick crowd. The scarred combatant was forced backwards by the exchange, with dust kicking up beneath his boots.

Greatjon let loose a thick laughed and charged forward again. He was ruthless, like an actual bear bashing again and again into the man in front of him. His hands were like massive claws and Sandor was like a tree standing in his way. The beast of a man was relentless, determined to beat the obstruction down to the ground with as much force as necessary. Some of the onlookers even mused that he would use more than he even needed to, perhaps even going so far as to rip his foe's arms off if the chance came up.

After a moment or two of being pounded on through, Sandor struck back. The scarred man looked up from his arms and upon seeing another fist rushing toward his face, he moved. The Hound ducked slightly, barely a few inches toward the ground. It wasn't much, but as he moved, Greatjon's fist missed its mark and grazed the very top of the man's scalp. A searing path burned the man's skull. Even if it was merely the palm of his fist, the Umber backed one hell of a blow. Suddenly, the tales he spoke of concerning popping open a man's skull didn't seem too out there anymore.

Nevertheless, when Sandor was given a chance, he took it. The second Greatjon's fist soared over his head, the Hound took a strong step forward, cocked his fist, and struck the massive man with a uppercut straight to his chin. The crowd gasped at the sudden crack, taken back by the blow to the bearded man's noggin. For most, such a blow would have taken someone's entire head off, followed by a wet splat several feet away with a pool of coppery liquid pooling underneath.

Yet to the shock of many, and the lack of for others, Greatjon refused to fall.

In fact, as the man stumbled back from the blow, leaned back, as if teetering on the brink of falling backwards. The air felt thick and heavy, with many looking on to see what would happen to the larger than life man. Then, the Umber leaned forward, wiped his mouth, and grinned.

"Now, that stung quite a bit!" he chuckled.

Sandor gave a twisted grin and lunged forward, barreling into the equal giant. With a yelp the crowd got out of the way as they ploughed into a table sending good and plates flying.

Umber brought his hands together and slammed them down onto Sandors back.

The Clegane gave a grunt and backed off, falling back into a defensive stance. Usually the hound was more brutal and fierce, but Herian had pounded him into paste enough times for him to have learned a trick or two.

Herian only looked ferial when she fought, she was always in control. He grudgingly admired this, and had learned that charging in head first didn't always work.

Greatjon gave a gleeful bellow and started to rain blows down on Sandor. The other man blocked or ducked out of the way, he was faster and more sober.

One blow blocked harmlessly against Sandors forearm he snapped out a quick punch to the mans gut. Umber grunted but counted to push Sandor to retreating.

Another block, another punch, the hound had the advantage in stamina.

A slower round house came in for his head, Sandor countered, grabbed the Umbers arm and yanked him forward, sending the huge man sprawling forward… into Sandors knee.

The blow to the stomach knocked the wind out of the great man and Sandor let him fall to the floor with the most satisfying THUMP.

Before Umber could get up, Eddard called out. "Sandor is victore." This would prevent the fight from escalating dangerously.

With the announcement, the surrounding crowd exploded into cheers. Mead and booze were thrown into the air along with chunks of meat. Men threw their arms up as well, nearly losing their mugs in the process. Of the men, several started muttering among themselves, eagerly musing on the idea of throwing down as well. Better still, some even passed a bit of coin around due to matters decided before the brawl had gotten underway.

Sandor leaned forward and held himself up by his knees once the call had been made. The Hound huffed and coughed his lungs out as he tried to recover. He had to give it to the elder man, for as big a talk he had, the beast could still throw one hell of a right hook. Any more of those and he might have had a face that actually matched on both sides.

On the floor, Greatjon coughed a bit himself before laughing, "Come on now-! I could have taken a bit more! How about a second round?!"

"Maybe some other time." Sandor huffed. He could fight all day with most folks, but against someone like this creature? The one who looked more like a bear who had shaven off the top of his head? No, the Hound was going to need one hell of a drink before he got back into that one.

Greatjon huffed, "Fine, have it your way."

Sitting up, the massive man looked out amongst the crowd and laughed, "If he's not going to go at it again, then who else is?! Come on, lets have it!"

The crowd exploded once more with shouts and cheers. Many a men stepped forward, already stripping out of their clothes in preparation of going at it with someone else. Half the people present didn't even looked like they cared about who they might be trading fists with. Instead, the matter of it actually happening seemed far more important.

But amongst the crowd, a voice spoke out between the sea of cheers and curses.

"We'll take a crack at it!"

In front of the crowd, the source of such a claim was quickly found. But to many a shock, it did not come from a man. No. instead, a woman stepped out from the sea of burly men and whilst dragging her opponent along, smirked at the sight of the open space amongst the crowd of people.

"That is," Alysane spoke up again, "If no one has anything to say otherwise."

Alysane Mormont stepped forward from the crowd with Jon quickly trailing behind. The woman held a large smirk across her face, and with it, a certain look in her eyes. She gazed at where the previous brawl had taken place and spared the young Stark a small look and a grin.

Jon spoke out louding turning to address Herian. "We'd like to fight in our second skins, if that is alright Herian."

The elf truly woke for the first time in nine days and straightened, though Ned moved with her to support her. She was silent for a long moment that with carefully measured words spoke. "You know the conditions, see that you obey them. I will stand sentinel pup."

Jon grinned. "Thank you, I will." He turned to Alysane and translated. "She says it is okay, but that we should mind our teeth and claws." Which was only half of what she said, as most of was directed solely towards Jon. What was really being said was, you know the conditions of the gift, see to it that you don't accidentally infect her.

"Sounds fair." The Mormont started to strip.

Jon gave her space moving to stand before the high table and too shrugged out of his clothes, ignoring the jeers at his skinny if very sculpted form.

Alysane changed first a swift fluid thing that only took a handful of seconds, one minute woman, the next a great brown bear was in her place. She gave a short roar and lumbered into the middle of the room.

Jon turned to Herian.

After a moment's consideration, Herian unclipped her necklace and tossed it at the boy. "Roar." Was her only instruction.

Jon caught it and looked up at the woman amazed, she never took of the amulet. What trust it meant for her to give it to him, if only temporarily. He clenched it to his chest, and smiled at her, then slipped it on over his head and called up brother wolf.

His shift took longer, bones cracking and skin splitting, the crowd got a good look at a werewolfs transformation, it was not near as natural as a skin changers. As he finished he lifted his head and ROARED! A deep guttural sound, booming forth. Men and woman shank away in fear, one blue spirit wolf materialized beside Jon. The black werewolf looked down at it and cocked his head, the spirit wolf cocked back then faded to wisps.

"So it still works." Herian mused, enveying Jon his smoother shift.

Bear lumbered toward the taller half wolf and they prowled around each other.

Alysane had more shear mass, but Jon was limber and slender, more power per inch.

"Begin." Eddard said, watching closely, then said softly to Herian. "You hadn't told me you gave him your wolfs blood."

Herian whispered back. "It was his choice."

Jon lunged at Alysane who lowered her head and thundered forward. Bear meet wolf in a clash of claw and fang. Alysane got under Jons arms and raised on her hind legs lifting the wolf boy up and tossing him flat on his back.

Jon scrambled out of the way to avoid getting crushed. Brother wolf growled, rising up to face the challenger, Jons' mind quickly taking a back seat. He lowered himself and prowled, trying to force the bear into a corner.

Alysane bellowed and charged at him, this time Jon leaped to the side and, pounced on the bears back. The bear dropped and tumbled like a human, knock the wolf off.

Brother wolf quickly recovered retreating again, snarling all the while. He prowled low to the ground, getting ready to pounce.

Herian moved smoothly but slowly, she leaned on the table but started going around it. Eddard followed, he wanted to stop her, but knew better. When Herian got to the other side of the table she rested against it, Ned stood beside her and arm wrapped around her back, hand just under her ribs. It gave the illusion that she was supporting herself.

Brother wolf growled and leaped at the bear, throwing his shoulder into her chest and heaving upward.

Alysane gave a roar and batted at his head with a huge paw. They fell back and brother wolf lunged for Alysane's throat.

"Jon." Herian called out, her voice smooth and strong. Though creating the word was very difficult, she had to keep all her pain and exhaustion out of it.

Brother wolf stopped short and looked over at this alpha.

"Come." Again the word was perfectly formed.

Brother wolf jumped off of Alysane who shifted back to human, her mother tossed a cloak at her.

The huge black werewolf remained on all fours and stopped just before the elf.

Herian reached out and brushed a hand through the thick fur of his cheek. She smiled softly at the wolf who turned his head to press into her palm. "I apologize Lady, my apprentice is but a pup. He had not yet seen his first full moon. I should have denied him his request." The elf raised her gaze to Alysane and gave a little bow.

"No harm, Herian Indoril. Jon has spoken highly of you, either of us were in any danger with you present." Alysane started to pull her close back on.

"I wish I had you confidence in my abilities." Herian said, she reached around Jons head neck and pulled the amulets away, before returning them to their rightful place.

Brother wolf watched his alpha with icen eyes, he didn't want to turn back.

Herian closed her eyes and called on the doors the Old Gods had made. "Ned how have you been summoning magic?" She asked softly, barely audible.

"Strong emotion." Eddard supplied.

"Right, the one thing I was taught to never use, figures." Her eyes snapped open shifted over to her wolven gold. "Revert." She ordered the black wolf before her, reinforcing the order with magic.

Jon's wolf gave a little whine but shifted back, the change swift and clean. "Ow." He said.

"Sorry." Herian said.

"I know why." Jon said, she was injured but she still couldn't afford to look weak before brother wolf. He stood and caught his clothes when Alysane threw them at him.

Herian smiled then very suddenly felt very drained. "Ooo." Her legs crumpled up underneath her, and her vision went black for a moment, all the energy drained from her.

"Herian?" Eddard caught her carefully and looked her over.

The Moon-and-Star amulet was glowing a bright vibrant white.

BOOM!

Eddard's gaze snapped out to see men scramble away from the center of the hall. A tear in the air, glowing the same colour as the amulet had appeared.

Huge draconic claws dripped at the edges and with a MASSIVE CRACK, the tear was ripped open.

A huge figure leaped out of the rip in time and space, he was armoured completely in black dragon scale, he stood about seven and a half feet tall with a huge black dragon bone sword in his hands.

He did a quick survey of the room, finding Herian swiftly. He shouted back at the tear, his voice deep and rumbling. "Rek los het!"

The claws shifted slightly and the tear was forced open even wider, a huge individual even larger than the man forced her way through the it.

The individual had once been a Dark Elf, just like Herian, but between a dragon soul and blood and the heart of a God, she was no longer. Her body was covered in golden shining dragon scales, one could just see the shadow of her body beneath the soul scales. Horns of the same colour growing from her temples in a great crown like crest. Great wings flowed from her shoulders, not flesh wings though, these were manifestations of energy. Unlike her son the figure didn't land, instead she flew straight for Herian.

Korta followed his mother, eager to be with his daughter again.

Eddard had to work hard to not quake in his boots, the Nerevarine landed just before him and he did not fight when she took Herian from his arms. The Goddess aura enveloped the young elf and she pulled up the shirt and tore the bandages away with a flick of her clawed hand. The clothes were reduced to ash before they hit the ground.

The Nerevarine rested her hand above Herians wounds in seconds they healed, leaving four scars in there place. Colour flushed through Herians cheeks as blood was returned to her and she snapped back into awareness. She took one look at the sharp face above her and threw her around around the Nerevarines neck with a shout of. "GRANDMA!"

Lady Nerevar wrapped her arms around the youngest member of her family and hugged for all her worth. "Mu lost ful parnal, volen zu'u na sha."

Herian nodded and looked into the Goddess eyes.

"Legilimens." The Nerevarine slipped into Herians mild.

Have anyone poke through your head is unpleasant, having a God that can read you faster then you can think down right sucked. Fortunately that meant the Nerevarine was finished with her and had pilfered Eddards thoughts before the minute was up.

Eddard rubbed his temples, he had the strangest headache.

Nerevar put Herian down and spoke now in common. "Those shall serve as a reminder." she gestured at the scars on Herians stomach.

Herian nodded, and bowed.

Korta the khajiit pushed his way around his mother and opened his arms.

"Papa!" Herian made a flying leap for the elder.

Despite the armour Korta wrapped his arms around his little girl and they rubbed cheeks, the khajiit version a kiss. "Laha mon." He rumbled deeply through a purr. The cathay-rahts' pelt was as dark as the armour with white fur making up his clan markings.

Herian was happy beyond words, she hadn't seen her father in years.

"You know we can not stay long." The Nerevarine said. "Even now, the greater laws are pressing down. You disappeared, we were worried."

The youngest touched her amulet. "The magic here is different there is no magicka to call on. I only just managed to use the local magic."

"I know." Nerevar said.

Korta let her go and looked at the tear in space. "Oblivion."

The Nerevarine nodded. "We can not stay, we are not welcome here."

Herian went and stood beside Ned. "I know, it made me ill."

Nerevar looked between them, with a single stride she stepped up and thrust a glowing hand into Herian's chest.

Herian let a pained cry and tried to pull away.

Eddard grabbed her. "What are you doing?!" he snapped.

"You'll thank me later." Nerevar twisted her fingers and pulled again.

"Stop." Herian whimpered.

One last yank and Herian crumpled again, golden tendrils of power flowing from her chest into Nerevars palm.

The humans watched as the energy slowly transformed into a golden amulet. It was a tight dragon curled around a wolf, its wings framed the wolf, their tails woven together to a point. On each wing was the small symbol of the moon and star. It bones of the dragon were a shining golden metal while the webbing of the wings was a soft shining white. Anyone who has seen Herians wolf shape would see that the wolf's colouring was the same as hers. Both dragon a wolf eyes were a bright clear white. A golden chain weaved into existence from the top tip of each dragon wing.

Nerevar took one of Herian's hands and placed the new amulet in it and spoke so only Eddard and Herian could here. "He would make a fine Dunedain."

Herian leaned into Eddard and cupped the amulet to her chest.

"Kos pruzah." Korta said after the exchange was finished.

"I will." Herian said, cradling her life in her hands.

"Next time, we shall make preparations." The Nerevarine said, tearing open the rift again and departing.

Eddard stared after the two amazed. "Now I see where you get your flare for dramatics."

Herian looked up at him, giggled and then laughed, clutching the amulet to her chest.

"What the Old Gods name was that!?" Umber shouted.

"That," Herian was her strength renewed. "Was my Grandmother, the last living Goddess of Nirn."

"GODDESS?!" The crowd sounded.

Jaws dropped akin to the heaviest of rainstorms. Sets of eyes that numbered in the dozens snapped open so fast that their owners had to check to see if the orbs hadn't popped out of their sockets. Many had expressions of pure shock, disbelief, and several other emotions that could not be made into words. Men stepped back, women gasped into their hands, and gender be damned, very few could find a single word to describe what was in front of them. A title was simply that, a title. Anyone could say that they were a god, goddess, or any higher power in between. Like a young lad claiming he had seen a White Walker strolling through the forest in the dead of night. Whoever the person was, it had to of been a joke, there could be no other explanation.

But from what now stood in front of their eyes, definite proof in all her glory? That was something that couldn't be as easily brushed aside as someone mistaking the wind for some sort of ancient legend from an old piece of parchment.

Smiling at them. "Well yes, you didn't honestly think I was normal did you? Though I am the most normal of the family." She pointed at the moon and star amulet with a finger. "This tells her, where I am, and what physical state I am in. I haven't been able to summon the magic to use it, so naturally she got quite worried."

Melisandre was more curious about the new amulet the elf was shielding from them. The magic that had been in the room had been incredible, whatever that was, it was powerful. "Who are you?"

Herian drew herself up, Grandma showed up might as well get it over with. "I am Herian Indoril of Great House Telvanni, I am a master Witcheress of the School of the Wolf, Roaming Ranger of Tamriel, I am Dragonborn and Nerevarine blood." She took a deep breath. " I am clan Urshilaku of the Ashlanders, grand niece to my Emperor Sul-Matuul. I am in line to the Ruby Throne to the Empire of Tamriel." On one hand that was really nice to get off her chest, on the other she wished she could take back everything she just said. She was almost as bad poor Cirilla, but both of them had managed to dodge thrones and would continue to do so.

The slack jaws didn't mean much, no one would really understand half of what she said. Jon's jaw was hanging by his feet and she didn't look at Eddard.

Ned was staring down at his elf, suddenly a lot of things made since. That was way she didn't bat an eye at a King, she was used to being higher up on the food chain. He had know about most of those, but seeing the Nerevarine brought it all into perspective. Her father oozed power in his brief time among them, if overshadowed by his mother.

'The most normal.' she had called herself, he shook his head. He stared at her averted features, she had the Nerevarines' cheeks and hair.

Herian pursed her lips, and pulled away from Eddard. "I am tired, I shall retire."

The elf slipped out the way she had come, thankfully everyone was still to stunned to stop her. Once out of sight Herian picked up her feet and ran, holding the amulet to her chest. She blasted into her room and slammed the door shut.

The room was cold and dark, the elf snapped her fingers and a fire leaped into life within her fireplace. Swiftly she walked over to her table and set the dragon amulet down, then she back away clenching her fists and biting her lip.

It mocked her lying so innocently on the table, her life sitting staring back at her. She ran a hand through her hair, turning away from the table. Fear and panic welling up in her chest, course Nerevar wouldn't have bothered to ask, just pilfered her mind and acted.

The elf drew a shaky breath, she didn't have the energy to deal with this. Healed because Nerevar panicked, left with the scars because of her own stupidity. Herian ran a hand over her stomach feeling the angry raised red marks.

She bit her lip, what had possessed her to give her full titles? She had only spent her entire life avoiding them, and would continue to do so. Credibility in eyes of the Lords? I am gods blood, you really want to try me?

Then there was Ned. The amulet mocked her, it was so many things all of which would centre around him.

There was a soft knock at the door.

"Who is it?" she called out looking up at her hearth.

"Only me." Eddard said from the other side. "May I come in?"

Herian dedated for a moment. "Yes."

Eddard entered softly shutting and latching the door behind him. "I take it you are feeling better? Given the speed at which you fled."

"Well, I don't have any extra holes in me anymore." Herian tired and failed to smile at him.

Ned slowly approached. "Then what has you so frightened? Granted your family is, incredible and will likely be the gossip of choice for some time. But I doubt that bothers you."

"Nothing that I am ready to talk about." She said mutely.

Eddard came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Then come to bed, we can work through whatever is bothering you another day."

"You will not be missed at the feast?" She asked resting her head on his shoulder, turning her face upward.

"No, it is late enough that most are getting rather drunk." He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "Now come to bed, healed you may be, but you are far from restored."

"As you wish."

 **I wanted to make two chapters, but it would have been filler, so together they were put. Nerevar needed to show up, the magic of the amulet does have its rules. As for Herians titles, I've only been foreshadowing that for AGES, though I bet you lot will figure out why she said them before she does. Ten reviews! Ten! Happy day! Thank you to those who reviewed! The support really helps get these chapters out, I almost got side tracked by my star wars story, now that Star Wars Rebels has returned.  
**

 **Now I can not promise to have another chapter in a week, as per usual. I might still have time, but hacking up a lung is not productive. My mate is coming to visit, and we have a great deal we want to do. Though in the long run this delay will only serve you, by the time I get back I shall be fresh and much happier with the universe. Again thanks for all the support maybe we can aim for one or two more reviews this time round? It would suck to have the usual dip.**


	25. Chapter 25

Round Two

The morning light was just creeping through the curtains, lightening up arcs through the room. Herian was awake, resting propped up on an elbow watching her Lord sleep. Her hair messy curling down past her shoulders to pool on the pillow. Her expression was gentle in the dawning light, she smiled watching as his chest rose and fell in even sleep. Eddard was still sleeping his hair was equally mused but he was relaxed almost smiling.

As if Eddard could feel her gaze he slowly awoke, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He smiled, turning steeply to her. "Morning my lady."

Herian leaned forward and kissed his lips softly. "Morning." she whispered.

"What were you watching for?" Ned asked, reaching out he ran a hand up her thigh to her hip then, pulled her to him.

"My people, hmm." she ran a finger through his beard. "I believe that during the day, we wear the face that we believe will do us the most good. But at one point when we sleep, when we relax our true face is revealed." She kissed him again.

"So you were watching for my true face?" He ran a hand up her side, to use his thumb to pet the side of her breast.

"Yes." she nodded slightly and kissed him again.

His hand slid around her to her back and pulled her closer still, long slow kisses, moving slowly together. Against her lips he muttered. "I take it you liked what you saw?"

She raised a leg hooked it over his hip and pulled herself flush to him. "What do you think?"

"Hmm." He rolled over to be above her, his hand slide up to remove her tunic. His hands traced over the soft skin, caressing a breast, pressing a kiss to her neck.

She helped flicking the garb away, spreading her legs at the same time. Ned made a appreciative sound in the back of his throat and pressed kisses to her neck working his way back to her breasts. The elf ran her fingers over his side gathering up the tunic.

Ned pulled it off and leaned down to kiss her again. "I missed you."

Herian smiled softly, stroked both of his cheeks with her thumbs. "I'm sorry," she kissed his cheek. "I was to used to, not being afraid. I was cocky." Shame filled her, her gaze flicked away.

With a finger he turned face back to him. "No." He kissed her lips again. "Jon told me what happened, there was nothing you could have done different."

"I-" she started.

He silenced her with another kissed, palmed a breast, rubbing his thumb over the nipple.

Herian let out a moan, carefully raising her legs to wrap around his hips, mindful of her freshly healed stomach.

Ned kissed his way slowly to her ear, nipped it gently. Softly he worked his way down her chest, running his tongue over the opposite breast. He released the breast he had been massaging and slid it down between them gently caressing the sensitive flesh between her legs. Running a finger through the soft moist flesh, gently passing his thumb back and forth over the pearl of her sex.

Herian writhed, though Neds hips kept her from getting too wild, a moan escaping her lips. She rocked her hips against his hand and let out a small sigh.

Ned parted the lips of her sex and shifted to align himself, then gently pushed forward against her yielding flesh. It had been a little while, so he was careful watching her closely for any sign of pain.

Herian let out a soft moan and raised her legs higher on his back, allowing him to slide within her more easily.

Ned leaned forward kissed her again, then ran a hand from her knee to her hip and surged forward the little way that remained, sheathing himself.

Herian let out a soft cry her inner walls clenching around him. Taking several deep breaths she tried to relax for him, her body was not yet used to allowing another within it.

Ned kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear and waited, kissing and caressing till she relaxed again. Then very slowly he started to move, gently relishing in having her back safe and sound.

His actions communicated a great deal, Herian wrapped an arm around his shoulder and the other around his chest. Their lips met again, she started using her legs to pull him to her in time with his movements.

Their movements were leisurely and quiet in the morning light, the only sounds were their breath and Herians quiet moans of pleasure. They came together with a soft cry from Herian, Ned coming to a sharp stop to spill his seed inside her. Content they rolled to the side he and remain within her.

Herian tucked her face into chest with a purr, and the pair dozed till the sun started shine through the curtains fill the room and when the sounds of the waking household reached them.

"I take it, I shouldn't try to enforce bed rest upon you?" Ned asked, with a determined tone of voice.

The elf smiled and ran a finger through his beard. "Relax, I plan to raid the library for now. I want to see if I can find anything on what the monster is, if that fails I have one more trick to try." she mumbled into his chest.

Ned raised a brow, rubbing circles over her tail bone. "What would that be?"

"Summon Hircine. As the Prince of the Hunt he might already know, and if he doesn't he would have a much easier time of finding out then I would." She really didn't want to do that, introducing a force like Hircine is always a bad idea.

"That sounds like a last resort." Eddard commented.

"It is, I would really rather avoid that." She snuggled into him, he was very warm and it was very nice. "What about you? What are your plans for the day?"

Ned sighed. "I imagine I will spend most of the day negotiating with Stannis, my name was put forth for King of the North yesterday, by tonight the vote will be called. After that I have a dinner with the Tyrells, though that might be moved till after dinner. Regardless of the outcome of the Moot, I will have to make myself seen."

Herian chewed on her lip. "Let me up."

Ned moved the leg he had hers under and his arm, and had to smile as she inched her way off of the bed and walked carefully over to one of her chests. Despite the loss of flesh she still had a lovely rump.

Carefully she knelt and unlocked the chest, after digging around for a moment she stood and walked back over. In her hands was a golden white crown, though not made of gold. At its center were two half stars framing a imperial style dragon though much finer and elegant then you would find on a banner. From it flow hair thin golden wires, that flowed into two long fine wing like side pieces, from there was another wings, the wires flowing around it. From the side wings flowed a cascade of golden lines, one loop meeting up with the third wing set, three more that looped over to the back, where it met with another line. Ned thought they would make a lovely frame for her red hair.

She offered the fine crown to Ned. "Would you like me to accompany you, formerly?" She bit her lip. "As would be befitting my station back home?"

Eddard sat up moved to the side of the bed, he carefully took the beautiful piece of metal work from her and set it on the bedside table. He wrapped his arms around her and pull him to her, rested his head between her breasts. He kissed each and pulled back. "You, my fair lady, are making yourself much easier to marry. After your father and grandmother appearing, then the stating of your titles. You entering the hall on my arming wearing that." He guessed it came with a dress. "I think very few would object if I married you."

"If you marry me when winter comes, I can ask Grandma to cast off the winter for a month and make the land flush with crops and game." She grinned. "I have one hell of a dowry."

Ned laughed and kissed her breast again. "I would be honored to have you on my arm."

Herian slipped onto his lap and they spent several more minutes, lost in kisses.

Reluctantly they parted and set about getting ready for the day. Ned had to depart to his room, leaving Herian to her own devices.

The elf walked over to her table and looked at the amulet that glowed softly gold. All this talk of her family and all that entailed, then her grandmother making that amulet, from her. She reached out and touched the warm metal, then snatched her hand away. The elf shook her head, making herself easier to marry… Damn Nerevar and her melding, fixing the biggest problem she had. Though she didn't have the faintest idea to introduce it to Eddard. On that note, did she even want too? This was very new to both of them, less so with him, but she could just trust in Nerevar and go with it?

Herian wrapped her arms around herself, her sex still sore from their loving making. Just what had Nerevar seen that made her create the amulet, the magics involved were intense even for the goddess. She bit her lip, run run run run, that was all she had ever done when it came to her position. Thankfully she wasn't a direct heir, just an Urshilaku and a dragonborn. Had she only been one or the other then she wouldn't be an heir, it was just damned popular opinion.

The Septims had been the longest living family to ever sit the Ruby Throne, and they had been of dragon blood. Their replacements didn't last near as long or rule as well. The people wanted a dragonborn to sit the throne again.

That left only her family. Nerevar, who was doing her damndest to avoid a throne, memories of the False Tribunal still fresh within her. Arianna who was happy off in yet another dimension quite happily paired for love and acting as a Queen. As the eldest she would not be moved now, and she had a throne and husband. After that came Garrett who resided in the same realm as Arianna and again had taken a human to bed and sired a son. So he was out for sitting the Ruby Throne, he and his witch lover wanted to stay as out of sight as possible. Ghanima had paired to Geralt and was a head of the Wolf school, so again not about to move. Thain was dead, thanks to the first war against the Thamlor. Chani would sooner hang herself then rule, and she was too Khajiit. Few would allow one of the beast blood on the throne, at least not one that was obvious about it. Korta her twin was the same, and as First Ranger, he is much too close to Nerevar. The careful balance of power between her and the empire would be disrupted. That just left Keria, Harimand and herself. Keria was head of the Companions, rather loud and brash not ideal empress material. Harimand only visited Tamriel much preferring working as a Witcher on the Continent. Herian was dark elf enough that people did not care about her Khajiit blood and had been the most visible of the three, as she worked as a Ranger.

Duty and honour warred within her. Then her ideals of her family, don't rule, all dragons seek to dominate. Don't give yours the opportunity. Duty said that she should go home someday, make herself available for the throne, should the need ever arise. Honour bound her to Eddard, she gave him her word. But beyond that she had grown to care about him, even love him.

"ARGG." She grabbed her head and bite down sharp on her lip. "When did this all get so complicated! So messed up?!"

Her gaze fell on the amulet, if she gave that to Eddard, bound herself to him. Then no matter what happened she could not be taken from this world. At least not without Ned.

She resisted the urge to punch the table, with swift sharp moments she popped open her moon and star box and swifting put the amulet inside, locking it up tight behind her. "Why didn't I just keep my trap shut?!" Herian shuddered violently. "I'm gonna have to try and remember my court manners now."

Herian spun on her heel and set about getting dressed, this was something to debate over later. Afterwhich she threw her heavy cloak around her shoulders. Instead of her usual boots, she pulled on her Daedric boots and gauntlets.

Ned was leaning against his door when she came out a smile on his face. He offered his arm and Herian had to smile.

Together they walked to the great hall, arm in arm.

The Stark pups beamed when the two entered the hall, someone had removed Herians usually spot and the seat for Lady Stark had been returned to its place.

Eddards lip twitched when he noticed. "I think my household has been conspiring."

Herian looked at the high table. "And that won't cause trouble?"

"Hmm, unlikely. You did spend your brief appearance yesterday on my lap, while I wouldn't protest against that again. I think moving your place was called for."

The pair walked over and Herian as discreetly as she could took her new place. Herian quickly helped herself to breakfast, filling her plate with meats and porridge with a dribble of honey. She was content to listen to the murmur of the hall, many had already come and gone, others were just trickling in.

The servants swept into the hall baring yet more trays, hot fresh bread, hams and cheese.

Three servants came to collect the empty dishes and replace them with the fresh ones.

Herian rarely took her breakfast with the rest of the Stark so today she learned something new. Lord Stark made a habit to reserve a place at his table for a different servant each day todays was Vayon Poole. A wizened old man was the steward of Winterfell.

Vayon wasted no time drawing Eddard into a discussion about how the royal visit and Moot were draining the stores of Winterfell.

Herian listened, though much of it was new to her, her training pertained to running much smaller houses. Eddard and Vayon talked about how much the fields would likely yield and how much to store away. Ned wanted to store as much as possible, Vayon wanted to fatten up Winterfells treasury.

Olenna Tyrell was glaring at the elf with her granddaughter at her side. She had asked the servants why the seat of Lady Stark was being returned to the hall. The servants had refused to comment, only smiling and fleeing.

So the elder Tyrell has resolved to watch the high table, she had been worried that the Lord had taken a wife in secret. Then Eddard had come into the hall, his bodyguard on his arm. She looked different, wary almost, she wore strange black gauntlets and discreetly managed to eat a rather lot. Lady Tyrell couldn't sniff out any royal training in her, however she seemed to be listening to her Lord closely. She was looking forward to dining with the Lord again, however the Lord rarely spared Margaery even a glance, favouring the elf instead. She watched as the elf finished eating and excused herself, she didn't miss the Lords smile, the familiar touch on her arm.

Herian set out for the library dodging people as much as possible, though the crowds were thick in the courtyard. She stopped for a moment to watch Jon teach the guards, ice flowing from their fingers. She smiled, the boy was really coming into his own.

With some effort she raised her gauntleted hand the heavy daedric stressing her fatigued muscles. She pursed her lips, strong emotion eh?

She thought on her dilemma with Eddard, then tugged on the magic within her.

Fire stirred into life in her palm, a familiar warmth, she smiled finally. She poured more energy into it, watched it grow. She coiled her fingers, the fire condensed. "Huh." She flicked her fingers and the fire went out. With a swift sharp guestered she disappeared from sight.

Invisibility felt a bit different, rather than taking one allotment of magic, it was a slight constant drain. Silently though it was harder than it used to be, she picked her way around the crowds, scaled the outer wall and worked her way around to the library. Lurking in a shadow she allowed the spell to fall, then steady herself against the cold stone.

Raising herself up she raised her chin and headed into the Library tower. Robb had taken the time and resources to repair it after the fire. The only young Septon Chayle was in the tower as he was its librarian.

He was a young plain man, slight of build, brown of hair with fair skin and brown eyes.

"Mornin." Herian called out to him.

Chayle's head snapped up from his worn tome, he had been in the great hall when Nerevar showed herself. He didn't like the thought of other Gods then the Seven, but he didn't dare speak against the elves. "What can I do for you Lady?"

"Lore, myths anything with or about monsters." Herian said.

Chayle raised a brow but set about gathering books. "This about that creature roaming the lands?"

"Aye. Jon said it was at least two and a half men tall, thin and gaunt with arms that near touch the ground. Have you read about anything like that?" Herian walked over to a large table tucked under one window, snapped her fingers in an Igni sign to light the candles.

"No my Lady." Chayle set down three large tomes of Lore. "I fear I will not have much for you, these Northerns like to pass down their stories orally."

Herian pulled a seat out and sat, pulling the first book over and gently prying open the yellowed pages. "Thank you for your assistance."

Chayle bowed his head and took his leave at her dismissal.

The book was a history of the north, starting at the age of heros moving onward. It was written by some southerner, who had pieced it together from yet more oral stories. After a few hours of reading, Herian carefully closed the book.

"Useless." she muttered under her breath. The next two books yield the same results, she was beginning to see why Jon hadn't bothered with the library and had instead asked Old Nan.

A twitching jerking jiggle reached her ears and she turned like a wolf to view the source. A young soft obese boy waddled into sight singing out. "The shadows come to dance, my lady, dance my lady, dance my lady," he sang, hopping from one foot to the other and back again. "The shadows come to stay, my lady, stay my lady, stay my lady." The boys face was covered in a green and red patchwork.

"A jester?" Herian wondered and silently rose from her chair like a cat turning to him. She had no idea what to make of that, clearly this little man wasn't all there in the head. "What shadows?"

The boyish man jerked his head up looking at the elf, then cocked his head to the side like a wolf.

Herian couldn't help but mimic him, kneeling so they were at a equal eye level.

"Dragon dances with a wolf, around and around they go, wolfs blood dragons blood, pooled together forever, oh oh oh." the puggly little man said, an eye twitching.

"I am a dragon and a wolf, are you talking about me?" She had the strangest urge to prowl toward him, she only just refrained.

Patchface gave the elf a toothy smile, before his eyes glanced over. "A golden bird on a field of black comes."

With that he waddled off leaving Herian to stare after him. "What in oblivion was that about?"

She turned and looked down at the books, this wasn't going to get her anywhere. Nodding to Chalye she cloaked herself in another spell of invisibility and headed back to her room. She spotted Eddard and Rodrick talking and stopped a minute to listen in. The creature was close, well that would make her idea easier to execute.

Once back at her room she donned her Daedric armour. It had been some time since she had worn her full kit, and it was much heavier than she remembered. She slung a extra belt over her hips, on it a varied collection of grenades and poisons. On her back went her bow and daggers, but she took only Fang from the wall. Lastly she pulled on her helm, tucking her hair underneath.

She pressed her hands to her chest and woke the all of the enchantments at once, oddly they worked the same as always. She felt her strength and endurance swell, as well as other subtler things.

She rolled her shoulders. "At least it won't gut me this time."

Again she cloaked herself in magic and made her way out of the castle. Winterfell was very large and very full, it woke old sensations to walk through a crowd unseen. She dodged and wove around them, passing through the courtyard to see Jon and Ned spar. Herian paused, taking note how they learned from each other, though Ned was still superior. Though the Ice Blade flared on occasion, her lip quirked as the blade moved the boy.

Satisfied that all was well, she slipped out of the main gate and started north. Once well away from Wintertown she picked up her legs and ran.

Her chest was quick to start heaving her old stamina just out of reach, but she pressed onward. There was a saying that the Witchers of the School of the Wolf. 'A witcher can forget to eat, to drink, to breathe, even, but a witcher never, ever forgets to care for his blade.' While her blades were neglected do to lack of use, the blade of herself needed some serious attention.

The Witcheress was deep into the Wolf's wood before she slowed to a stop, catching her breath leaning against a ironwood. The snow had covered the forest, heavy and thick, winter was coming.

Swallowing and straightening, Herian surveyed her surroundings and sniffed. Nothing, the cold wasn't getting her yet, while not for the cold, Daedric was effective. She set off again, this time her footsteps made no sound, all of her senses sharp looking out for her prey.

Deeper and deeper she hunted, a smile eventually spread across her lips. This was how it was supposed to be, just her and the Path.

Softly she whispered. "Laas yah nir." Red light filled her vision and she could see the hares hiding in their burrows, the birds abed in their nests. Farther she roamed the sun slipped behind the horizon. The scent of decay crossed her nose and she slipped into a true sneak.

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice… With a swift leaped she flowed up a iron wood tree and traveled leaping from one branch to another. It was only when the sound of crunching reached her heightened ears did she slow and turned silent again.

Slipping around the trunk of one last tree she perched and looked down on the monster. Dusk light set the small glade, the monster was crunching its way through a stags corpse.

Herian pulled three small jars from her belts and three arrows from her quiver. One arrow she dipped in Cursed oil, another in necrophage and lastly one in specter oil. Tucking the oils safely back away, she lite the enchantments on her bow and drew back her first arrow.

Twang! The arrow flew true and the monster let out a howl as it bit into its shoulder, fire blazed up from the wound, but it healed in seconds pushing the black arrow from its flesh.

The arrow of necrophage met the same end as the monsters looked frantically around for her.

Lastly the arrow of spector oil was loosed, the monster howled and clawed at the inchy black shaft protruding from its shoulder, and did not heal.

"Well that's interesting." Herian silently mused high in her tree. Softly she drew Fang and set about oiling the black blade in spector oil. Carefully she dropped into the lower branches till it was just the air between her and the monster.

Its snort flat snout, full of sharp stubby teeth, the shape of the skull looked almost human, despite the huge antlers. Its sickly yellow eyes fixed on the elf.

"High time we had a rematch." Herian growled, ripping a dimeritium bomb from her belt and throwing it at the monster will all her might.

The thing howled at her in rage as the dimeritium bit into its skin and charged at the tree.

Herian leaped for it, Fang gleaming.

Her first strike was good, she cleaved into its shoulder as she soared past. She quickly rolled away as those long claws sweeped back to cleave her in two.

The Witcher charged in again will the cloud of dimeritium was still active. The monster lashed out at her in two cleaving swings. Herian dropped and dived between the monsters legs, turning on her heel she sliced through the monsters thigh.

It roared and tried to spin after her, but the oil was working and its leg was not healing.

She leaped again back into the glade, trying to give herself space to work.

The huge creature glared at her, its eyes had an eery human intelligence behind them.

Herian raised Fang up to her ear, and crouched low, keeping one hand free for Signs.

It roared and charged like a bull, Herian waited til the very last moment then leaped into a roll out of the way. The snow slowed her and the monster was quick, it backhanded her sending her tumbling into a tree.

She hit it with a crack, though it was the tree not her this time. Her armour took the brunt of the hit and she was up on her feet leaping at the monsters. She did not block or parry, she danced around it, slicing in quick movements, always just one step ahead of the monster.

The snow was kicked up around them, as they battled. It raised both fists up and she blasted and Aard into its chest.

As it stumbled back Herian leaped up grabbing a horn as she flipped Fang into a reverse grip, then stabbed it into the creature's chest over and cover. Black blood covered her, spraying onto her armour, it smelled horrible as the monster grabbed her with a crawled hand and tried to pull her off of it.

Herian drove Fang deep into his chest as the hand closed around her waist and it pulled. Herian's grip was iron on his antler, as it pulled her away, swiftly she pulled on of her daggers from her back and drove it into the monsters hand.

It howled as the daggers magic sprung to life, burning its way deeper into the creatures wrist. With her now free hand and all the excitement, thrill and adrenaline she ignited a IGNI into the creature's face. It screamed at her those yellow eyes turning a charred black.  
Together they fell to the ground with a mighty BOOM, wasting not a second Herian pulled Fang from the creature's chest and hacked the things head off. Obvious to the gore coating her, or the horrible stench, or the sick wet sounds of flesh and bone parting under blade.  
With one last crunch she staggered away from the body, pulling its head away with a jerking snap. Panting she stood over the monster for a second then pulled her dagger from its wrist.

She grabbed the things head and turned away, dragging the heavy thing behind her. As it bled and bled, turning the snow black. She had just reached the edge of the glade when a crunching sound made her turn back.

The creature's body was picking itself up, blood pouring from its neck she would see the white of its spine.

All the blood drained from Herians face as she stared, watching it rise withouts its head. It lurched and swayed. All its wound even those inflicted by her oiled blade slowly closed before her eyes. It took a slow step toward her.

Her gaze snapped down to its head, grabbing it with both hands she swung it around, once, twice and FLUNG it as far away from her and the monsters as possible.

Only passing to see that body lumber after its head, she bolted away like the Long Night was on her heels.

As she ran, only one thought was going through her head. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

She ran far faster than she had coming out, flying by the trees, scaring the crap from some deer.

She stopped only once to drink a stamina potion before fleeing again.

A howl raised in the forest behind her.

"Shit." Herian hissed and poured all her energy into running. Daedric was not made for running, though it had saved her from yet more injury she was wishing for her wolf armour right then.

She could hear it crashing in behind her as Wintertown came into sight. Raising her voice in all its dragonic glory, she roared. "EVERYONE BEHIND THE WALLS NOW!"

At first there was no movement, then eyes turned, screamed filled the air and people ran for the walls. Wintertown was fast deserting, but humans can't run very fast.

Herian wiped her bow from her back, and leaped backward, raining arrows into the monster. It roared at her, focusing on her rather than the retreating towns foke.

With and empty shack to her back she poured arrows into its flesh, they only stuck for a moment or two before the creature healed.

Seeing her come to a stand still it roared again and charged intending to plow through her. As it barrelled toward Herian kept firing, and just as it lowered its head to impale her she tossed her bow to the side and braced herself.

It catch her straight on its antlers and they crashed into the shack, wood splintering everywhere. She could feel its teeth biting down on her arm but her armour was holding. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she called on her, Ancestor's' wrath.

Magical fire blazed into glory around her, it spend unhindered by the cold, lighting the shack on fire, enveloping the monster.

It let out a horrible ear splitting screech and pulled away from her. Fang was in her hand and she drove it forward, lighting more fire within it. This time she ripped the blade out sideways, leaving through its ribs.

With a heave she shoved her way around one of its arms, ducking as it turned and swiped at her with another firey claw.

Calling on her wolf she threw her strength at the fallen wall and blasted her way out. Rolling to grab her bow and slung it over her back, only to stumble to her feet and having to shake her head, her eyes were ringing. Again the Aura Whisper shout fell from her lips and she was happy to see her diversion had bought everyone time.

She could see Eddard and Jon standing under the portcullis, Ned had an arm around Jon restraining him. Herian ran again, still ablaze with her Greater Power, snow melting in her foot prints.

A thundering crash announced that the monster had broken free from the shack and Herian could hear it giving chase yet again.

As she drew closer, she shouted. "CLOSE IT!"

Eddard shook his head, but turned and shouted something she couldn't hear.

Archers appeared along the walls and started to rain arrows down behind her, a growl sounded from behind her as they filled its pelt. A few pinged harmlessly off of her armour.

When the gate was only twenty steps away she turned and leaped again. "GOL HAH!" Bend will, she didn't have the energy to use all three words, but she hoped two would be enough.

"STOP!" She roared as the shouts golden light wrapped around the monster, it stumbled for a moment, paused eyes glacy.

Herian only just managed to race under the portcullis as it came down and the monster turned to its senses. It charged into the metal grate like a battering ram, causing everyone to leap back.

The Witcher leaned over bracing herself on her knees and panted. Air, glorious air, she clawed at her helm and yanked it off her head, her red hair tumbling free.

After taking a few more deep breaths she stood and turned to the monster bashing on the gate. With a roll of her shoulders, outstretching her hands she channeled the fire of her spell straight at the monster rather than covering her.

It screamed and howled, but perhaps it decided that this prey wasn't worth the effort and departed.

Spent, Herian let her arms fall and she stepped to and leaned on the portcullis.

"Are you alright?" Eddard ask approaching her, he touched her shoulder to snatch it away as black sticky blood covered his palm.

"All in one piece." she said through heaving breaths.

"And that was the monster." Eddard looked out of the gate but it was gone.

"I took the bloody things head off and it got back up!" She started to gather her mind, now that her life wasn't in danger.

"It grew a new head?" Jon's brow shot upward.

"No, when the body got up without it, I threw it as far away as possible and ran." Herian swallowed and got up, her armour was feeling very very heavy.

Stannis and Tywin who had let their archers to bolster Neds when they creature came into view were quickly making their way down from the walls.

"What were you doing? Going out alone?" Stannis asked, this was the first Stannis or Tywin had seen of the elf in action.

"I wasn't about to bring a bunch of slow, ill trained, clumsy humans out on a hunt." She glared at the King of the South. "Because if you hadn't noticed, that thing just keeps on coming. While I can appreciate cannon fodder, I didn't need any for this."

Stannis didn't know what cannon fodder was but he got the message. He opened his mouth to growl at her but Tywins' hand on his shoulder stayed him.

"You could have said you were going after it." Eddard said softly, she hadn't even told him she had left.

"You would have wanted to come along." Herian said mutley. "I'd rather not get you killed." Her expression softened, just enough for him to see it.

"You could of brought me." Jon said dejectedly.

Herian shook her head. "It tossed me like a bloody doll, it would have turned you into a bloody pulp." She tapped her black armour for emphasis.

Jon stared for a moment then a small. "Oh."

"Oh?" Tywin asked, he felt like he was only getting half the conversation.

"Daedric is one of the strongest elements on my homeworld, nothing short of Dragon Bone cuts it. This suit is magically enhanced on top of that. I fully expected to lose and prepared accordingly, this was more about reconnaissance." Herian expalined.

"What did you learn?" Eddard asked, gesturing for the gate to be raised.

Herian pulled out the Specter oil from its pocket. "Oddly enough, specter oil slows its healing. As well as dimeritium bombs, it also seems to dislike fire."

Eddard popped open the jar and moved the dark blue shining liquid around. "Smells terrible."

The Witcher gave a half laugh. "Well yeah it's, bear fat, essence of wraith, arenaria, mistletoe, wolf's liver, alchemy paste, longrube, ergot seeds and rebis. I don't think I have ever heard of sweet smelling Witchers oil."

"Wraith?" Ned asked.

Herian waved a tired hand dismissively. "Noon wraiths, night wraiths, plague maidens, Baenn'shies. They generally come from young women who died horrible deaths, in just the right circumstances. Murder is particularly good at creating wraiths."

"Brother Albert's Bestiary didn't mention that last bit." Jon commented.

"Brother Albert is a very dry read." Herian said.

Jon rubbed his eyes just thinking about it.

"The short of it is when you kill one they leave a ooze that can be used in oils. Can we go inside now? I stink, my armour needs cleaning and I am hungry." Herian left out that she felt she could sleep for a week.

"Of course." Ned stepped to the side and the crowd parted, staring hide eyed.

Herian wished she could make herself invisible again, instead she put on a stoney blank face and allowed Ned to escort her to rooms.

Only when the door closed behind them did he speak again. "You should have told me. I could have readied the guard."

Herian walked over to her weapons table and started pull off her gear. "This is what I do Ned, fight monsters. I don't need help usually, this one is strange, I only ran back because I didn't know what else to do. I don't think you would do any better if a monster came after you while missing its head!" She rounded on him.

"That is not what I meant." He walked up to her, "You could have been hurt, or killed." his tone was cold, but not unfeeling.

"I am a Witcher! I have been doing this my whole life! I am well aware of the risks." She broke eye contact with him to start pulling her bloody gauntlets off.

Ned clenched his fists. "You were half dead not two days ago."

"No Witcher has ever died in bed." She set her gauntlets on the table, making her way quickly through the buckles she pulled her pauldrons and cuirass off.

Lord Stark watched her as her skin was revealed, the armour was skin tight so she didn't wear garments, the bones of her spine stood out on her back. Pale white lines from where her ribs had broken when the monster threw her at the tree. Her hair was messy sticky with monster blood, even in her state he could see how tired she was.

"You are not fully healed, you should have waited at least." He resisted the urge to touch her.

Herian glared at him, at his tone of voice. "I am not some Lady that will stay cooped up in a castle. The longer I wait the more people will die. I had a plan, it's not my fault it can function without a head."

"Well apparently you are, just how much more are you not telling me about you?" Ned felt his temper rising.

Now naked Herian turned back to him with a glare. "Nothing!" Nothing importantly anyway.

Eddard looked into her eyes, those red pools. "You're lying." he hissed.

The elf blinked and jerked away sharply, "Nothing important."

"Everything is important. You've only ever been honest about what you need to be at the time. You leave out huge things that have come back to bite us." Ned glared at her.

"I didn't ask Grandmother to come! I would have really rathered she didn't!" Herian brustled. "What would have happened if I hadn't given my titles? Hmm, have you even thought about that? A Goddess comes into your great hall and heals me. I keep my trap shut and leave everyone wondering why the hell someone like Nerevar is interested in me. Before you know it rumours would be flying about Gods know what! At least by saying why they don't think I have made deals with a demon or something equally stupid." The room was cold, it was starting to keep in on her. "And I have told you about her! And you knew I was related to her! It shouldn't have been that much of a shock!"

"You could have mentioned she could just show up." Eddard stormed away from her threw two logs into the hearth.

Herian snapped her fingers causing it to light before he could start it. "I didn't think she ever would. I didn't think you would ever have to meet her."

"So you were just going to leave me in the dark? Or did you just plan on leaving one day? Right when I might ask something more permanent of you? Just keep running and hiding from your birthrights?" Eddard turned back to her, pulling of his cloak and setting it over the back of a chair.

She stormed away fetching a bowl and clean water from the wash closet. Grabbing a cloth she started cleaning her armour. "I wouldn't run, if I was going to leave I would tell you." she refused to look at him.

"Forsake your oath to me?" He referenced the oath of loyalty to him and his family she had made when they first met.

Herian slammed the gauntlet she had been working on back onto the table with the cloth. "Don't you dare bring that into this." she hissed.

"Why not? I can't even be sure you'll tell me when something is wrong. I can't keep you from gallivanting off when it suits you." He glared at her.

She turned to him rigid and fierce. "You can trust me to act as I see fit! I didn't need your help in Kings Landing and I don't need it now! I won't endanger normals when I don't need too! You don't need to look after me!" Her voice raised to a shout. "I promised to keep you and your family safe, my safety did not factor into that oath."

"If you didn't need help you wouldn't have taken Jon on, if you didn't need help, you wouldn't have come back almost dead!" Finally Ned snapped.

"I don't need help! I took Jon on because I thought he would make a good Witcher. Have a little more respect, my Lord. Not everything I do is that selfish in origin." She hated this, they both had better things to do.

"I do respect you, I have seen you in action more than enough to respect you." Her address of 'My Lord' was as good as a slap to the face. It wasn't even 'My Thane', it was 'My Lord' she hadn't used that since they met. Even when she said my thane it was with some warmth.

"Then stop treating me like Catylen." She growled. "I am not her, I am not some lady consumed by family, duty, honour." She spoke the Tully words with distaste. "If I was I wouldn't have made that oath to you, I would be home right now. Serving my family and doing my duty. Instead I am here, with you, bound by my honour."

"I am not treating you like her." Eddard walked over to her, stopping two steps away from her, now that the conversation was no longer being shouted.

"You say that, but then you are angry when I do my job." she refused to look at him. "I don't belong here my Lord, I belong on The Path." She didn't belong here, this world, this place she should go home, walk the path, die by monster hand. She almost looked at him, he made her heart feel tight in her chest. Falling in love had never been part of the plan, and that frightened her. Running was safe, running always served her needs.

Anger rose in his breast, couldn't she see he only wanted her safe? Fine then, she could return her Path, she obviously cared more about it then him. "Fine." He snarled. "Leave, go on your beloved Path."

Herian's brow shot up and lowly in a stoney voice that would have done the Stark proud. "Get out."

Lord Stark grabbed his cloak and left.

The servants came in after he had left, they had clearly been lurking in the hall.

Herian payed them no mind as they brought in food and a bath, ran before she could dismiss them.

The elf bathed and cleaned her armour in a fit of rage, before redressing in it and packing her essentials. Tucking them back into her box, but leaving all the books and alchemy equipment. The only extra things that went into her box was her Witcher gear and some of the clothes that had been made for her.

Turning to leave she paused. Grabbing quill and parchment she wrote to Jon.

 _All my books are yours. Continue with your studies, stay safe._

She quelled the fire with a snap of her fingers and left, stopping only to collect Roach from the stables. Herian road for the Place of Power, she had questions and only one places left to turn.

 **Not much to say here, it took a while to get back into the grove. Worry not Aesir21 we are working on your chapter, its part of why this one has taken so long. That said huge shout out thank you to Aesir21 who reviewed every single chapter and actually saw what I have been doing! Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Outside of Aesir21 we only had four reviews for the last one :( but then that seems to be the norm when I get my mutliverse on. I hope this chapter proved more interesting and noteworthy.**


	26. Chapter 26

**The next two to three chapters are all going to occur congruently, so addition planning and time has been required. So instead of the usual programing, you get a brief look into Nirn.**

A Memory

Seven years ago

The white stone of the Imperial palace was alight with warm golden light. Huge clear glass windows with a chandelier of gold floating above them all, on it were jewels and a hundred hundred golden mage lights. The ceiling depicted the Nine Divines on the outer ring of stonework and on the inner the Dunmer Daedric Princes of Azura, Boethiah and Mephala. Musicians played off of a raised platform and food was set to one side, with servants ready and waiting to circulate. The ballroom was packed with every major species of Tamriel represented.

A high elf introductory raised his voice again and loudly pronounced. "Lady Herian Indroil of Great House Telvanni, granddaughter to our great Nerevarine, escorted by Ser Harimand Indroil of Great House Telvanni son to our great Nerevarine."

Harry leaned over and whispered into Herians ear. "Chin up, shoulders back and remember to smile sister."

She shot him a glare but rolled her shoulders back and flipped on a charming smile.

The pair walked hand in hand into the great hall, Lords, Lady, Counts, Countess, the King of Skyrim, Archmaster of House Redoran and his councilors, as well as the Archmasters from House Sadras, Dres and the Temple. Every higher power was present for this gathering, and one by one they were shown in, announced and allowed to mingle.

Herian wore a gown of white and gold, the corset was formed from paper thin moonstone. It cupped her breasts not presenting them, but still holding them in a flattering manner. It reached to just below her belly button, from each type fine golden weaves looped down over the white gown. The skirt was wrapped around her hips parting at her knees, revealing thin high golden boots. From the tip of the corset that reached just to her collar bone a white cloak of the finest softest silk. Embored on the back, the gold and silver dragon and moon and star of the Nerevarine.

On her head, was a golden white crown, though not made of gold. At its center were two half stars framing a imperial style dragon though much finer and elegant then you would find on a banner. From it flow hair thin golden wires, that flowed into two long fine wing like side pieces, from there was another wings, the wires flowing around it. From the side wings flowed a cascade of golden lines, one loop meeting up with the third wing set, three more that looped over to the back, where it met with another line. The gold catch the light and set her dark red hair aglow.

Harry was dressed in the same colours but instead he was wearing a velvet doublet with comfy breeches. His ashen locks were brushed back behind his ears on which he had golden wire piercings. Like Herian he wore a crown, though his was much simpler the same golden metal only forming two lines meeting at his forehead.

Arm in arm they walked down the steps, smiling as was required. They walked over to Korta who was dressed in white and his courtesan in light blue. Herian curtsied to her father and bowed her head to his companion. Harry bowed to both and they took up their place beside them.

Under her breath Herian asked her father. "How many are left?"

Korta leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Just the Emperor's family."

Herian shuddered. "Keria already came in, and what of Grandmother? She helped me into my gown."

"Right before you, mother wants Sul to manage this gathering. But I swear she is up to something." Korta straightened.

The announcer spoke again. "Princess Nalaale and escort."

Nalaale first born of Emperor Sul-Matuul was a tall woman with black hair wearing a jeweled red gown. She was very Ashlander with the sharp features of one.

"Prince Danans and Inara Serra."

Inara was a mix of Imperial and Redguard, warm golden skin with curly black hair done up and framed in gold. Her grown was also fine golden in make.

Prince Danans was very like his elder sister, but worn a black doublet.

"Prince Vavemil and escort." The youngest of the royal family was but sixteen and very like his father, kind smiles and sharp features also wearing black.

Each member of the royal family passed at the end of the steps then moved to stand with the counts.

"Emperor Sul-Matuul and Empress Maeli."

Both wore the royal robes that echoed the Septim lines but with Dunmer designs, rich reds and purples. They were both old but they held themselves with strength. Together they rose their arms up together and Sul-Matuul spoke out. "Welcome all to my house! May this gathering of the Rudy council and their escorts be prosperous." Then they lowered their arms and joined their subjects.

Conversation broke out some moved to great the Emperor and his wife.

"So where have you been daugther mine? Did mother drag the pair of you from the Witchers Path? How goes the Thamlor hunting?" Korta turned to them smiling, his black pelt shinying softly, brushed just so his clan markings stood out.

Herian nodded.

"Aye." Harimand said. "Nice to see you again by the way." He offered his arm and Korta grasped it at the elbow and they both gave a small squeeze.

"And you Harry, I haven't seen you in years!" Korta was a khajiit in its smooth pure, it has charmed any a woman.

"The Path calls." Harry said.

"And you my daughter? I must say whoever painted your clan markings did a wonderful job." The tall half khajiit turned his attention to Herian.

Herian smiled up at him, blush dusting her cheeks. "Grandmother invented a paint that paints itself, it was very strange feeling."

Korta reached out with a finger and gently turned Herians face from her chin, showing the painting on it clearly.

His keen eyes missed nothing. "That is one beautiful piece of magic, I swear there is gold dust in it. The soft shine is almost invisible." He smiled. "I imagine the markings are complete?"

Herian blushed, Harry took her cloak off and she and turned on the spot slowly for her father. The back of her dress only just covered her tail bone, the white clan marks covered her back artfully.

Korta smiled more. "Quite lovely."

She smiled at him. "It was very odd going on." Harry clipped her cloak back on.

Harimand who had been admiring the paint commented. "I'll have to get some of that myself." He looked over to the dance floor, the musicians had struck up a pleasing waltz. "Shall we dance?" He offered his hand to Herian.

"Yes please. Be seeing you father." Herian curtsied again to her sire and took Harrys' hand and together they slipped into the circle of other dancers.

Hands were placed with perfection and respect and they stepped and twirled in time with everyone else.

Herian busied herself looking at Harrys' right ear lobe.

Softly her sorta brother spoke. "Stop blushing sister mine, I know you hate these events but you look lovely." They stepped together, Herian to the side, Harry spun her and pulled her back.

"I feel like a piece of meat on show." She whispered. Herian heart was beating in her rib change like a race horse, she could stare down a giant, but couldn't stand a crowd.

Harry chose not to mention that many of the Lords and Counts were looking at like she was one. "Nonsense." He said instead. "Though even in this crowd you are hard to miss."

The Emperor had the royal reds and purples, but white and gold was reserved to the Indoril family, not to be confused with the fallen house. So Harry, Herian, Korta and Keria were the only members present wearing white and gold, silver and dark blue were used as highlights.

"Why did we have to attend this one again?" Herian asked.

"You are of age now, we could only hide for so long, we are Nerevarines blood. We do have some political pull, you know Lords and Kings will be vying for our help or support. Gaining our favour moves them closer to mother and the Emperor." Around and around they went. "I probably could have dodged this one, but I wouldn't abandon you."

"I hate politics." She muttered as they broke away and joined a larger line dance.

Harry stood in front of her in the line, while other partners lined up. The musicians struck a new song.

Herian curtsied to Harry and he bowed, then stepped across to the left and took the hand a tall Altmer together they did a joined hands and stepped outside with all the other pairs. He spun her, they took two steps down and broke apart. Herian stepped away to take a new place down the line, and the Altmer took the spot that had been vacated by the other male. Next the men took a turn, stepping up to the ladies and spinning them around. In the end Harry was once again facing her.

They stepped up together fluidly going hands, she stepped to the left he to the right, her right arm outstretched over his chest.

"You and me both." Harry said in her ear, then still holding hands they stepped away and did the same move but stepping in reverse.

Herian did not have time to formulate a response before the dance progressed and Harry was offering her to another man.

Again Herian moved down the line, and went through the same steps as she had with Harry.

The man was a Imperial shorter than her, young maybe twenty years in age, thus of an age with her. He had thick brown hair and a roman nose, bright eyes blue eyes and thin lips. Herian pretended not to notice when those bright eyes would flick to her breasts.

"Lady Herian." He engaged her.

"Lord?" She asked.

He smiled at her, a thin almost superior thing. "Valga, I am Count of Chorrol."

"Many apologies my Count, I rarely engage in these gatherings." Herian said with a false smile. She wasn't sorry at all, but was just trying to smile and look her part.

The Count lead her through the steps. "You are forgiven, it is known that the youngest members of the Nerevarines family rarely show themselves outside of their work. You are a?"

"Witcher, I work with Ser Harimand." Step, step, curtsy.

"Ah, that would explain your amulets. A Witchers Medallion and the moon and star. Such a lovely bird as yourself needs not work such a… grueling job."

Herian almost let her eyes flick werewolf gold, instead she gave her most charming smile. "I am wolf, not bird."

Valga's eyes flicked again to her throat. "I see."

The dance progressed till she has returned to Harimand, with one last curtsy they broke apart and returned to the crowd, new dancers took up the floor.

Harry snagged to fine chalices of flin from a passing servant, for them and handed one to her. "To a flawless dance."

They quietly tapped glasses and drank shallowly.

Herian took Harrys' arm and they started to circulate.

"Harry, Herian!" Keria made her way through the crowd, though most got out of the way of the large half nord. Approaching them she pulled them into an embrace in turn. "Baby brother, and the ever tiny Herian."

Both set about uncrushing their lungs and together smiled and said. "Hi Keria."

Keria of the same blood red hair as Herian but with broader Nordic features of her father and was taller than both of them. Keria smiled. "Still speaking together I see."

"Only sometimes." They said.

Keria laughed again. "I was surprised to see you two enter, mother summon you?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Seems our time of hiding is over."

Keria sighed. "You two had a good run, I am a bit surprised she waited till Herian was twenty. But then I guess you are not dazzled by the bright colours anymore?"

Herian blushed and muttered. "No." Taking Harrys' arm again.

Keria leaned over and whispered to her. "Smile for your admirers sweety." And directed her eyes over Herians shoulder.

Herian turned and glanced over her shoulder.

Valga had gathered together what she guess were his friends and they all were smiling or leering at her. She found it hard to tell, shuddering slightly. "No thank you."

Keria laughed. "Don't go around chopping cocks just yet, niece."

Herian threaded her fingers through Hairmands and blushed, wanting to hide behind him, only just resisting. "I didn't know that had made it here."

The half Nord shook her head. "Your messes are quite unique."

"I will endeavor to change that then." Herian said.

Keria shook her head again. "I wouldn't worry about it, very few care about what state the Thamlor are in. Many of the people here just see you work as housecleaning. Saving them the effort of committing troops."

"How does that song go?" Harry asked.

"The Gate is knocked in and the town is aflame, and it's ours for the taking, and you get the fame." Herian sang softly.

Keria let out a booming laugh and took a long drink of flin. "I would pay good coin to hear you sing all of that tale. Your voice has so much more life then Chani's. Hers is so honeyed it makes you want to cry."

"After this affair is over we could find an inn. I have had Durin's song of Moria stuck in my head of late." Herian offered.

"Ooo, that would be lovely, I am sure I can get a few of my men to play to your voice." Keria had no gift for song, and always found ways to hear those who were.

"Keria! It has been some time." Ulfric Stormcloak, King of Skyrim, and his escort approached the three.

"My King." She bowed slightly to the king, though he was King, Keria was an Indoril.

"My Lady." He bowed just slightly lower. His gaze turned to Herian and Harimand. "My Lord, my Lady Indoril." He offered his hand to Herian.

Masking her reluctance Herian gave him her hand and let him bow to kiss her fingers. "I was not informed that the lovely Herian would be attending." His storm blue eyes caught her red ones. "Tales of your valour in battle and your beauty do not do you justice."

Herian licked her lips trying to figure out something to say. "Thank you majesty, you flatter me." She pulled back slightly and Ulfric released her hand and turned his attention to Harimand.

"I have not seen you since you were a boy, you have grown well."

Harry smiled forcefully. "Thank you, I must confess I do not remember much of Windhelm."

"Then the pair of you must come visit, my door will always be open to you." Ulfric gave them a thin smile. "Excuse me, I must circulate."

"Till next time." Harimand said and Herian nodded at him as he left.

Kerian stepped closer to them and spoke softly. "Be careful around that on niece. He courted me for my hand, though he is much to controlling for my tastes, wanted a Queen. But I do not think he has given up on marrying into the family."

"I am part Khajiit, I doubt he would be able to lower himself to lay with me." Herian said equally quietly.

"Since mother took a Khajiit lover, some are more tolerant of the idea. Keep in mind all he would have to do is marry you, not bed you." She smiled and ran a finger over Herian's not quite elvish ear. "And your Khajiit blood is subtle, unless they are told or have meant Korta, I doubt many would notice."

Harrys' lips thinned. "You know you are the second person to mention marriage of late. What is going on?"

"Follow." Keria said and led the way out of the ballroom and up onto a roof terrace. Food and drink had been laid out and the few people present fled with dignity at the sight of the three Indorils.

Harry let go of Herian and helped himself to a small rich stuffed tart. "Spill. He ordered his elder sibling.

Keria threw back the last of her flin and grabbed a nordic tankard of warm mead. "Need a stiffer drink for this."

"Does this have something to do with why I was forced to attend this ball?" Herian asked, the moonlight making her dress shine as she rubbed her hands together nervously.

"Aye." Keria nodded to one of many stone benches, it was backed and covered with finely embored pillows. "Sit."

Herian crossed the terrace and sat, the view looked out over the Elven Garden District. She could see families dining and lighting paper lamps.

Keria came round and offered her another flin. "Drink."

Herian took a small sip.

"Enough, what is going on Keria." Harry was getting tired of his sisters avoidance.

Keria took a drink of her mead and leaned against the white stone rail. "The fact of the matter is Suls family is rather small. Some parties are finding that they want another Dragonborn on the throne. Given that our elders have found other realms to live on, that makes the list rather short."

"Not that short," Harry countered, brushing his ashen hair from his face. "You, Korta, Chani,-."

"Herian." Keria said with an air of finality. "Most of the people here are too set in their ways to put a Khajiit on the Ruby Throne. I am leader of the Harbingers, even if I wanted to I can't sit the Throne, I am bound to the Companions."

"I don't see." Harry began again annoyed on Herian's behalf.

"Herian is young, beautiful and not as powerful as any of our brothers and sisters. Meaning as far as the Lords and Counts are concerned. Perfect marriageable material, even if nothing happens to Sul and his children. To say you have an Indoril wife!" Keria growled and her eyes turned her werewolfs icen blue.

"It would disrupt the balance of power." Harimand muttered.

Herian didn't understand this, she did from an intellectual perspective. "But the Indorils don't marry, we pick partners for love, or lust, we do not bind ourselves. I have been called a bastard enough times to know this."

There was a dangerous flash behind Harrys golden cat eyes. If he ever found out who had been calling his niece a bastard they would be sorry.

"We are all bastards, but given that none of us have married. No one really cares, a husband of ours would probably take the name Indoril, just for the status of it." Keria said with a growl. "All the men down there are going to try and keep you as far away from the princes as possible."

"Well they can go right ahead and do that, I have no interest in marrying a prince." Herian.

"Sweety, it won't matter if one decides he wants to marry you. Grandmother is stepping back, soon we won't be able to rely on her power to keep everyone in check. We are going to start having to make alliances for the good of the family and House Telvanni." Keria felt sorry of the youngest member of the family.

"Irulan." Herian said.

"Hasn't been living here since her birth. Ghani will never bring Irulan to court." Keria said.

Herain took a deep drink. "If I left now, do you think anyone would notice?"

"Everyone would." Keria said.

Harimand came over and sat beside Herian, she scooched over and cuddled into his side. "Why don't you go seduce one of the princes Keria." Harrys' voice was flat and unfeeling.

Keria took her dismissal and departed, leaving the two to sit in the moonlight.

They sat in silence, watching the stars and the moons, eventually Harry said. "You could come home you know."

Herian shook her head slightly, her face tucked into his shoulder. "There are more Thamlor that need killing."

"Your mother wouldn't want you to be consumed by vengeance." He said, wrapping an arm around her.

"Mother was Ashlander and Telvanni." Enough said on that.

"You still don't need to hunt them."

She looked up to him. "But I want too. I'll come home when they stop appearing out of the walls like rats."

Harry sighed and went silent.

Herian muttered softly. "I won't marry for politics Harry, I won't, our family doesn't marry and we don't rule."

"Both are things mother has chosen, we are not Gods like her. We don't have to follow her rules." Harry was good at a soft calming rumble, almost like a purr.

Herian purred in return. "But they are right and just things, dragon blood seeks to dominate."

"The Septims did just fine for a long time."

Herian had no counter argument to that.

 **I apologize for the delay, but as said in the forward the next three chapters are proving tricky.**

 **Thank you to DarkBlight, BrutusSilentium, deomic angel-ninja8871 and aesir21 for your reviews. Don't be to hard on Herian aesir21, while I drop frequent hints, I don't think many have picked up on them. She has very good reasons for acting the way she does.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Feeds long awaited Elder scrolls crossover stuff slowly into the plot.**

I am the Hunter, you are the Prey

Not long after Herian departed breakfast, yet more new arrivals this time the head was an elder man, thin, brittle, bald, toothless, his skin hanging loosely over him. All together he was a weasley man, so old to be confined to his chair.

Eddard rose from his seat and began to make his way down the hall. Normally he wouldn't show the ever late Lord Frey the courtesy, but his morning with Herian had left the Stark in a rather decent mood. It surely wouldn't last for the entire day unfortunately but with everything that was to surely happen, it was the best type of start the man could wish for.

As he passed, Ned turned to the lord and gave a sharp nod. "Lord Frey, I see you decided to grace us with your presence."

"Lord Stark calls a Moot, I can't not come can I?"

Like his general appearance, Walder Frey's voice sounded as shriveled up and shrunken one could imagine. The old man looked up at the Lord with a sharp eye, "Who are the contestants Lord Stark?"

"Lord Bolton and myself." Eddard replayed.

Hearing his, Walder rolled his eyes and coughed up a bark, "Huh should have known."

Eddard resumed his usual stoney conterance. If there was anything he had been expecting, some reason and respect from the Frey was farthest from such a list. "Lord Bolton was the only one to put his weapon forth, the Umbers and Mormonts made their loyalties clear."

"Bloody bears and giants, always following you wolves." Walder grumbled as he adjusted himself in his chair. The old man could barely sit straight, it was a miracle that he could still get out of bed in the morning as he was.

"Would you care to break your fast Lord Frey?" Lord Stark asked.

"No, I have businesses with the Whitehills, I will speak to you again later Lord Stark."

Eddard nodded and spared no time in departing from the hall in search of Rodrick. Getting away from such a man couldn't have come sooner in his opinion. Thankfully, he found his man at arms a short while aways, just overseeing as Jon train the guardsmen once again.

"How goes your day?" Eddard asked..

Rodrick glanced sideways and caught glimpse of the Stark. Now aware of his presence, the man at arms turned and offered him a slight nod, "Well my Lord. Finally run from the hall?"

"The Lord Frey arrived, after exchanging courtesy I thought it would be a prudent time to depart." Ned replied. The course of conversation had already proved itself far greater than anything the Frey had chosen to say, that was for certain.

As the pair chatted, they watched as Jon sought to summon and channel the element of frost. The icey force of nature swirled between the boy's hands, the chilly nature turned the air cold, frigid, and even made his breath visible while indoors.

"Wise my Lord, Lord Frey can test even Stark nerves." Rodrick noted.

Ned nodded, "Indeed, but enough of our guests. Has there been any news of the monster that I should be aware of?"

"It was last seen only three days ride from here. Is Herian well enough to hunt?" The elder man asked.

The Stark shook his head, "She is better, though I don't think well enough. Her wounds are healed, but when she was eating this morning her arms seemed grow weary easily. She is back to wearing her black armour, though I think she is using it to start to rebuild her strength. I know each piece is very heavy." Ned drew his cloak around him. "She said she was going to look for information on the monster in the library today."

Rodrik didn't comment on how exactly Ned would know her armour was heavy. One instance of undressing shouldn't have made it easy to assume. Still, another question for another time."I wish her luck, its hard finding anything in that stuffy place."

"I'll go drag her out come lunch, knowing her she will get to wrapped up in her search and will forget to eat." Ned smiled slightly.

Rodrik's lips twitched upward. "Come down to the yard with me? Jon always enjoys sparring with you. It will also help your calment for the men to see their would be King in action."

Eddard thought about it for a moment. "For a little while, then I have to meet with Stannis."

The pair headed down to practice.

* * *

Everyone's heads snapped towards the main gate when Herians' roaring command roasted then to the gate, the massive creature hot on her heels. The sight struck terror into Ned, not even the sight of the monster that made him afraid, but his witcher battling it alone that brought her weakness from not even a day ago to his mind. Jon tried to rush out the gate, but Ned grabbed him, he ended up wrapping his arms around his sons waist to keep him from running to his death. Lord Stark barked out order for archers to the wall. His heart hammered in his chest as she finally made to them, glowing afire. Then the gate came down and she was safe, covered in blood and panting but safe.

The brightness in her eyes, the glee, panting, tired, smelling of blood and ash. The Witcher was excited, Ned could see that, he hadn't seen that spark since they spared. How she could talk so casually of this battle baffled him, really of any battle. Was she so accustomed it? To fighting, to risking her life without a care? The Stark knew she was a great warrior, perhaps one day he would ask how she became one.

* * *

He stormed from her room enraged, the servants cowed out of his way. Eddard swept into his room, only just not slamming the door, he sat on the edge of his cold bed. His head in his hands. Damn that woman, couldn't she see he only wanted her safe?

He stayed there till the dawning hours, only leaving to attend dinner, then returned to Herians rooms

"Herian?" He knocked on her door, the feast had been long and tiresome. When there was no answer he gently pushed the door open, but there was only darkness. "Herian?" He called again, but there was no life within the room. He walked to a window, pulled the shutters open, then surveyed the room. Her weapons, armour, potions, all of it was gone.

Truth stabbed him in the heart, she was gone. His constant companion for near a year now, was gone. He walked over to the bed braced himself against a post, it was cold and empty.

"My Lord?" Rodrick had noticed Neds mood and had followed him.

"She's gone Rodrick." His voice was thick with pain, loss.

* * *

The sun had set by the time Herian approached the place of power, its blue glow visible now even without her awakening it. A storm brewed, clouds covered the moon and Roach picked her way along. The Witcher dismounted and pulled a gauntlet off, she cut her palm with a claw and kneeled in the snow. Closing her eye she drew on the lay lines, drawing the power up to where her blood darkened the snow.

The blood and snow mixed together rose and formed a small crystal. Prostrating herself she made her offer. "You child calls upon my Lord Hircine, there is a hunter in these lands that I can not defeat. I beg you, my Lord Father, help me, tell me what I face and how I might kill it, all for your glory, all for the hunt. I offer you my blood, that of dragon, I offer you this realm. May you hunt freely." She bowed so low her nose near touched the snow, raising her hands above her the crystal floating between them.

The crack was quiet, but one could feel the swell of power. Black leather boots came into her vision, huge wolf paws beside them. Herian could feel him take the crystal from her, feed it to his wolf.

"Rise my hound, your offering most is generous." Hircine's voice was deep and rumbling, harsh, cutting. It resonated beyond a human level, making her bones hum.

Herian rose and looked up into her Lord. Hircine stood well over ten feet tall with a wolf bigger than the size of a full grown direwolf at his side. His skin was dark brown with white fur along the inner and outside of his thighs, over his chest and following the same pattern over his arms. Over his face a deer skull with great sweeping antlers.

He looked at her for a moment and spoke again. "The prey you hunt is a Wendigo, a spirit of gluttony that has taken a human body. It is created when mortals feast on the flesh of their own kind. Cut it to pieces my hound and burn each, you cannot kill the spirit, only drive it from its host."

Herian bowed her head, her questions answered.

Hircine reached out and grabbed her chin forcing her to look up into his eyes. He ran a finger down over her neck to her breast. "A boon my hound, a fair trade for your offering."

Her wolf rose inside of her and roared, Herians eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fainted.

She woke sharply, Roach nibbling at her fingers, Hircine was gone. Off to explore his new realm. Herian rose swiftly, the cold did not bother her and her heart hammered in her chest, the wolf within awake and ready to hunt. What she did not know, was that her eyes were wolven gold. Reaching out she stroked Roachs' cheek, "We have work to do."

Together they returned to the glade where she engaged the Wendigo, this time it was empty. Herian allowed Roach to roam as she gathered wood, braking off low branches to pile then in low stacks. That would hold when she started cutting her prey to bits.

When she was done she had three piles, placed around the clearing in a triangle. She drew silver sword, greased the blade in specter oil and activated the Severance enchantment, then she knelled in the middle of the clearing and howled. Then closed her eye to meditate and wait.

The Wendigo did not bother to hide its presence, it lumbered slowly into the clearing, eyeing her warily.

Herian down a Thunderbolt and a Swallow, then donned her helm and stood. Severance flared to life on her blade and she fell into her Witchers stance.

The Wendigo roared and charged, a claw raised to cleave in two. It fell into the snow, and was kicked into one of the piles, a snap of her fingers, fire engulfed it and they dance began again in the moonlight. The runes of Severance extended the reach of her blade by its own length once over. Its glowed blue as the silver burned the Wendigo. The two remained locked in battle, it went long into the night, as she hacked away piece by piece, kicking them into the pyries. Till its arms were gone, then she cut its legs to pieces, up she went till it was on its back trying to fight with no limbs. The monsters harsh screams trickling away, till its head fell into the flames. The twilight was just starting to break over the horizon, when the job was done.

Herian cleaned her blade, then sheathed it, then she drew a dagger from her back and cut into an ironwood tree. Then she left not just the Wolfs wood, but the north, heading south with a tired Roach.

Lord Stark, King Stannis, Melisandre, Rodrick and Jon, plus escort road with haste towards the billows of black smoke curling into the sky. Lord Stark led the party, fear making his heart beat like a drum against his ribs. The pace he step was as swift as the thick snow would allow, Jon and Rodrick shared a look. The fight between Lord Stark and Herian was well known, between the shouting and servants, it was all over the castle before dawn. Spoke in whispers so that Lord Stark wouldn't hear.

So when the dawn sky was filled with smoke, given the womans clear favouring of fire and Lord Starks swift flight many wondered if he would bring her back.

The first thing any of noticed beyond the smoke, was the gods awful stench. The next thing was the trees, unevenly hacked and dragged away.

"Good Gods." Rodrick was the first to speak, while others covered their noses and other gagged.

King Stannis dismounted, his foots sank deep into the blood red ground. Melisandre looked from bonfire to bonfire, just charred wood and ash and blood. It soaked the entire clearing, splattered the trees, so much that it stained the earth the snow under red.

Eddard remained seated on his steed, what he wanted wasn't in the clearing. "Jon." He said coldly, "What happened here, speak as Herian taught you."

Jon dropped from his horse and walked the perimeter, he stopped by a great ironwood and smiled. "Even gone she looks after us." he spoke softly so no one would hear. Then ran a hand over the words the witcher had carved into the tree. "Herian killed the monster, she left a message."

Stannis, Melisandre and Rodrick came over, the sap oozed from the bark.

Jon read out. "The creature is a Wendigo, a spirit of gluttony that has taken over a human body. Created when men eat each other. It can not truly be killed, only banished from its flesh host. To do this, cut it to pieces and burn each, ironwood worked well."

"That is all?" Lord Stark was living up to his reputation of stone.

"No my Lord Father." Jon had to fight a smile, for all his ice, he knew what his father wanted.

"She battled all night. It threw her into that tree," Jon pointed to a tree that was missing bark and partly caved in. "But that did not hurt her, she is wearing her black armour. You can tell by how deep her footprints are. She sliced it up, bit by bit, her step changes often, I guess she kicked the pieces into the fire. She left mayhap an hour ago, two at most, Roach is tired." he pointed out of the clear to the south. "She is leading her south."

Eddard kicked his stead into moment, "Either stay here, or return to Winterfell." Her tracks were easy to follow, Roach was a large tired mare after all.

Stannis opened his mouth to protest but Ned had already kicked his horse into a run.

Ned leaned forward into the saddle, making it easier for his stallion. He had feared that she would be long away by now, but she had stayed, finished the job. Still cared enough to deal with their problem for them. The forest blurred by, Herian was doing nothing to cover her tracks. Sure enough within a few minutes, there she was, trudging through the snow leading a tired Roach.

Herian glanced over her shoulder when the sound of hoof prints reached her ears. The sight made her heart clench, Eddard with an face of ice and dark eyes, hair blowing back as he pushed his stead after her. He reminded her of Hircine on a hunt. With a 'oh fuck' on her lips she dropped Roaches leads and ran.

While in armour she could not shift, could not reach what she was truly capable off. Her eyes flicked gold and she pushed, flying over the ground.

Ned did not gain, not right away, the forest was thick around them, she ducked and weaved between them. Her red hair streamed out behind her, Ned gaze was fixed on her, This chase got his blood up, reminded him of how the wildlings took their wives. That thought excited him yet more, though he had apologies on his lips.

Adrenaline pumped through Herian, but she had been up all night without rest. So when the forest gave way, her heart plummeted. She got all of thirty seconds before the pounding of horse hooves closed in on her.

Then and arm came around her waist, but in his excitement he forgot just how much Daedric weighed. Together they tumbled into the snow, though Herian rather on instinct, made sure he fell above her. As angry as she was with him, she didn't want to break his bones.

"I'm sorry." Ned blurted out when their tumble came to stop, snow in their hair.

Herian glared at him with those golden eyes, and with a heave sent him flying though it was not far. She stumbled to her feet and started away from him again, slow heavy steps.

Ned rolled over to his feet, his longer steps easily catching up. "Herian." He grabbed her arm.

Spinning on her heel she punched him square in the jaw.

His skin split in one thin line from his jaw to the tip of chin, the look of shock on his face made it worth it. "I deserved that." Ned said as blood slowly leaked from it.

The elf didn't speak to him. Instead, she simply yanked her arm away, or tired at the very least. Ned's grip was like that of steel and not so easily broken.

Her golden eyes locked with his dark storm ones, "Let me go, or I will make you." she growled.

Again the wilding traditions rose in his mind. "Make me then, if it makes you feel better."

Herian raised her fist, but it wavered, though her eyes did not.

Neds free hand grabbed the small of her back and pulled her to him. "I'm sorry, you were right. This is your trade, and alone you did it well."

She refused to meet his gaze. "Let me go."

"No." Her armour was cold, he could feel it through his glove.

Herian was battling her way through her emotions, she was pissed with him, on the other hand. On the other hand he loved her, otherwise he would not be here. She was tired, it had been a long past few days.

"Come back." Ned said, he missed her, her had missed her the moment he found that she left.

Herian shoved him away, backing away. "You can't just order me around, leave, come back. You do not own me!"

Her oath came to mind, but that had been a bad move last time. "I'm sorry!" He moved towards her. "I shouldn't have said those things! My blood was up, I was afraid for you!" His blood was up now, it made him bold, open.

Herian shook her head, bit her lip, she didn't know what to say.

He came closer reaching out to her.

She slapped his hand away and moved away from him. "Don't. Let me go, we should have never."

"Why?" Eddard asked. "Because I am Lord? Because chances are good I will be a King? You are Gods blood, Dragons blood. You are powerful, beautiful, wise, you said so yourself you would come with a dowry that would send winter away for a time! None of my bannermen would dare challenge you, or me. You ran to my main gate with a monster on your tail, and you sent it away! Now you've killed it, bards will make stories about you." He implored her. "Come home."

"DON'T!" She roared. "Don't call me DRAGONS BLOOD, I didn't chose my blood!" She bared her teeth. "I am not my blood, I am not my family's history!" She balled her fists. " Why would I come back? How long till this happens again? I am a witcher, my place is on the Path fighting monsters! Not playing Lady! I will never belong! What happens when things get worse? When the Conjuction gets worse? It will be new to this world, you will have no protection! Fighting, killing, hunting! These are what I am good at! And this world will need those skills!" The dunmer glared at him defiantly, her anger was making her strong.

He stopped surprised at her enthusiastic denial of her blood and family. Family was everything in the seven kingdoms, yet here before him was someone who wanted nothing to do with hers. Why was one thing he would have to ask one day. Carefully he chose his words, he wanted her to come home. "I can't promise we'll never fight. But you do have a place with me," He smiled slightly. "Plus I need someone to help me keep my head on my shoulders."

His little joke made her smile, remembering how she guessed his head would have ended up on the floor had she not been with him in King's Landing.

"Just come home, you can hide from the Lords and Ladies to your heart's' content." He approached her again and she let him pull her into a hug.

She let out a tiny purr and tucked her face to his neck. "I guess that sounds okay."

"I will ask Stannis and the other Lords to keep an eye out for other monsters, and when things start to accumulate they will send word to me. Then you can return to your Path." It was the perfect solution, he got to keep her for a little while longer and she would eventually get to return to what she loved.

Herian sighed and relaxed into him, that was enough for now. "Alright."

Together they set off back in silence, Herian tired and hungry, Eddard silent in contemplation.

Grey eyes watched the elf out of the corner of his eye, there was still something deeply wrong. Her fear of, of Lords and Ladies, of her own titles, of people. Her rage when she was address as who she was? He glanced at her, her red locks darkened by the melted snow. Her Grandmother was otherworldly, but he could see the resemblance. Yet, yet there was something else going on. He wracked his brain, trying to put the pieces together.

Ned collected his horse but chose to keep walking with her. As they walked, the Stark noticed her smile when they returned to Roach. The bay mare shoved her nose into the elf's stomach and she petted Roach's cheek.

Her wolf had remained present since Hircine had granted his boon. "I have something to show you. A boon from Hircine." Herian said softly to her Lord, and gave him Roachs' leads. She stepped away from the pair, undressed stashing it on Roach, then in the blink of an eye. A direwolf stood in her place, same timbre pelt of her werewolf form.

Ned had to blink twice, she was very large as larger than the direwolf that had mothered his families pups. Her eyes were that familiar gold, her pelt rich and healthy, even if she was still a bit thin. He set Roachs leads over his destriers saddle, then reached out and cupped her wolven cheeks. Her fur was thick and warm, it quickly thawed his frozen fingers, he did not need to kneel.

Eddard closed his eyes and reached out.

Then he saw himself, but it was different then before, her mind was quiet, for lack of a better word. He could feel her, she was so tired, worn, homesick, confused, but under all that he could feel a calm. A chilly calm, she seemed more wolf less woman, but it was doing her good, even just visiting he would feel his worries fade away. He pulled away and opened his eyes, then leveled a shared stare with her. With a nodd he mounted his warhorse and they set off again, the horses oddly at ease with the direwolf.

They found the company still studying the battle scene, Jon was the first to talk when Ghost leaped away from him to greet the new wolf.

Herian and Ghost rubbed cheeks and the young small wolf let out several happy yips. Both Starks thought they saw the elder wolf smile.

"You did not find her?" Melisandre asked, the huge direwolf made her uneasy. As if her god was whispering caution in her ear.

Eddard just gave her a pinched smile. "Let the snow wash this mess away." He set off on the path to return to Winterfell, allowing the others to follow as they wished.

Jon was quick to ride up to his father their direwolves between them. "Hello Herian." He spoke softly. "That is one way to hide in plain sight."

The elder direwolf grinned at him.

Stannis and Melisandre road up on Eddards other side, as if the Stark would keep the wolves at bay.

Stannis did not appreciate Eddards response to Melisandre so he asked her question again. "Did you find your bodyguard? Not a very good one." The last bit he muttered though all could here.

"I did." Eddard said, inviting no more questioning, but let a hand fall, and buried it in a golden pelt.

Melisandre watched the new wolf, it was huge, strong, cold and stony, she could sense magic deep in it and the bond that tied it to the Lord. She had heard of Wargs, and knew the Starks were wargs. She curled her lip in disgust, such northern magic was not of the Lord of Light. She had been quietly planning on turning Lord Stark to the Lord of Light, but even the seven were not strong here. The seven she could understand, turn their followers to her God, but Starks. They were the North and the north belonged to the Old Gods, the Old Gods had no words, no texts. Their worship was different to each person, had Catylen still been alive, maybe she would have been able to bring the Starks into line. Turn the wife to her God and the Lord would follow, it had worked with Stannis, but this presented another problem.

Lord Stark had no interest in any of the many women, ladies from all over Westeros, all those malleable ladies. Any fool could see he was in love with the strange elf woman, she was the favoured topic of gossip in Winterfell. From the servants and a little bit of sneaking, she learned that Lord Stark had taken the woman to bed after they returned from Kings Landing.

She had taken Jon under her wing and taught him of her Gods, her skills. More than once now she had heard the boy whisper, "Under moon and star, we stand eternal", they sounded like family words. She had once entered the elves room, her walls lined with books, some glinted and the words changed under her eyes. From alien runes, to her own language, she picked one up. It spoke of the House of Troubles, Daedric Princes, the description of the Princes had been terrifying.

What truly kept her silent was the histories contained in these books, invasions these Daedric Princes had lead. Sacking of cities, under the boots of Mehrunes Dagon, or before that when the Prince of Rape, Molag Bal stole the souls of Tamriel's people. Stories of the Heros that rose against these forces. She had only gotten through three of these thick frightening books, but even with that she had learned.

The Nerevarine, House Indoril, Head of the Great House of Telvanni. They followed these Daedric Princes, the Dunmer, they followed Azura, who was probably the least frightening of the lot, but the other two they had her wary. Boethiah the Prince who rules over deceit, conspiracy, secret plots of murder, assassination and treason. Melphala, lies, sex and murder. Did Lord Stark know just who stood beside him? She had learned while these were the Gods of the Dunmer, House Indoril also gave their souls to Hircine the great hunter.

She eyed the great wolf, there was Hircine personified, last night she had felt a strange presence in the woods. Now she felt it strongly, and it scared her in a way the Old Gods never could. No she shook her head, Daedra were not gods, they did not hide behind statues, Daedra invaded, took souls and created Champions to fight in their names, with their blessing and just a bit of their power.

Herian, Hircine, Melisandre watched the direwolves closely as they jogged up ahead of them, as they played. They symbolized what was happening, she had spoke with Maester Pycelle, magic and monsters were appearing, slowly but there was no denying it. The Measters were hiring spies, consulting their books, looking for how to stop it. In one conversation she had learned more than they had in months. She had been quick to report to her masters and Pycelle.

"Where has she gone?" Stannis asked, Melisandre had been teaching him the ways of the Lord of Light, he would reluctantly admit that magic was real. In Herian's brief appearance she had smashed any doubt in it, for him and many others.

Eddard nodded at the great golden wolf. "Releasing some stress, returning to a place of comfort."

Stannis's gaze snapped to the direwolves, they were playing back and forth nipping at each other tails. His brow shot up and his mouth went dry, he swallowed. "I see, how?"

Eddard smiled, he was enjoying the Kings discomfort a bit too much, it wasn't often King Stannis would ask how. "She said her new shape was a gift from her Prince Hircine, a boon, a reward for service I imagine." He was taking a bit of a guess, but if it made the King and his Red Lady uncomfortable, he was willing to take a bit of a leap.

"My Lord." Melisandre began. "Have you learned of her Gods?"

"A bit, I read some of her books while she was ill, what was not under magic translation, Jon has. Though the magic translations are a bit faulty." More than once the words had swimmed into runes he could not read, when he had asked Jon, he said he didn't know then either. A mystery for another day. Her stories of the Daedra had been incredible, so he had done some reading of his own. Dunmer, or as they Dark Elves as the other people of Tamriel liked to call them. He was beginning to see where Herian got her occasional moodiness from.

Herian stopped and cocked her head at Ned, a question that only Ned heard.

"I needed something to do, I couldn't ask you and it was high time I did some research of my own. You seemed to like listening to me." Ned responded.

The direwolf smiled, revealing sharp teeth.

Ghost body slammed her, though all he managed was ruffle her fur. She nipped at him and he took off, the game resumed.

Melisandre pursed her lips, so she couldn't use the elfs unsavoury deities against her.

"You are going to end up like your pups my Lord." Rodrick said good naturally. "They have whole conversations with their wolves."

"A gift of wargs." Jon said, he loved his conversations with Ghost warging was a unique experience.

"Be careful with that boy, it wasn't long ago when children believed to be wargs were left out to die." Rodrick cationed.

Jon smiled. "But now Lord Stark is a warg, as are all his children. How could such a useful gift to an old family be bad? I don't think we will see anyone rising against us because of gifts of our blood. The Old Gods see through the weirwoods, we see through our wolves. We are close to them, any northmen would agree with that."

Rodrick had to agree with that.

Eddard smiled at his son, what one had bloomed recently no longer afraid to speak his mind.

Jon smiled shyly under his father's gaze.

"To take another skin is a curse of the Great Other." Melisandre said hotly.

Lord Starks' gazed turned to her. "Keep your preaching to yourself." He said icily, his eyes darken, harden, like ice with his sudden anger.

Melisandre did not miss this and shuddered, though she did not feel the cold. Yes, she need to convert these northmen, she could already feel the presence of the Great Other, seen frozen faces in the flames but they weren't clear yet.

Stannis chose to not get involved, the north wasn't his concern if they wanted to keep to their Old Gods, he wasn't going to even try to change their minds.

Melisandre looked to her King for support, but found none. She pursed her lips, the chosen should not have yield to anyone much less a heathen of the north.

Ned found Herian's playing with Ghost rather funny, somehow playing with the pup she was more relaxed and happy then he had ever seen her. A slight smile played over his lips, remembering when she had first awoke and her first concern was the pups. Maybe there was more to that then a one time worry. Only when they entered Wintertown did both Herian and Ghost return to the Starks sides.

Much of the Kings company was housed in Wintertown and they greeted him as the past. At the stable, Tywin and the Tyrells awaited them.

Margaerys' heart lept for joy when she saw that the strange elf was not with the party. Though the huge direwolf at Lord Starks side instead gave her pause, putting on her sweetest smile she greeted them.

"My King, my Lord." She curtsied to them, her Grandmother gave them a smile but said nothing, letting the focus remain on Margaery.

"Lady Margaery." Stannis greeted.

"Ladies Tyrell, Lord Tywin." Eddard addressed them and dismounted, a stable boy quickly coming to tend to his horse. A hand quickly found its way into Herians' pelt, the wolf was glaring at Margaery and her low cut bodice. "Calm." He said softly to her. "Huntress?" he asked.

Herian gave a nod.

Margaery stepped forward. "What a lovely wolf my Lord."

"Huntress is the mother to my childrens wolves, normally she roams the wolfswood, but with fall coming I asked her to come home." Eddard lied, while he had told Stannis and Melisandre the truth, but he rather doubted Herian would leave her wolf shape for a while, so another story would be needed.

"Asked?" Margaery said.

Ned just gave her a thin smile.

"Well enough of this standing about in the cold. Lunch awaits inside and you still owe my granddaughter and I, a private meal Lord Stark." Olenna said with her usual commanding voice.

Lord Stark only just hid a grimace, he had been avoiding them. Worry for Herian one way or another had been rather consuming, entertaining the Tyrells didn't even register as important to him. With a false smile he said. "Many apologies, there have been many other things on my mind. I will have lunch brought up to my solar, shall we meet there in a half hour?"

"That is agreeable my Lord." Olenna said and she turned to hobble away Margaey in toe.

"That one wants you to marry Lady Margaey." Tywin said.

Ned glared slightly after the two women. "Not going to happen." He said coldly, the hand in Herians' pelt tightened slightly.

Tywin analysed the Stark for a moment, he seemed almost angry at the suggestion. Lady Margaey was well known for being a kind and caring woman, most lords would jump at the chance to take her for wife. Yet the Stark seemed to want nothing to do with her, that said he had shown no favor to any of the young ladies brought to his court. More than one Lord was feeling slightly slighted on their daughter's behalf. "Why Lord Stark?"

Ned glared at Tywin Lannister, the older man was only slightly taller than Eddard but was narrower in the shoulders and slender in a way only old age could create. Yet Ned couldn't help but feel threatened by him. "None of your concern Lannister."

Eddard stormed away before the eldest Lannister could press, Herian remained by his side. She was quietly thankful that the halls and doors of much of Winterfell didn't have any trouble accommodating a direwolf. What that meant she decided not to think about.

The pair made their way to the Kitchens, as they past the kennels all the dogs whined and back as far away from Herian as they could.

The Kitchens of Winterfell was one huge massive space, five great hearths along one wall, each cooking something different be it stew or slowing roasting venison. Along the north wall was a huge oven, a trough of dough being kneaded by two lads. Three long tables reached from one end of the room to the other, every few steps apart was a cook. Each working on a different dish, spices, meats, a thousand different scents that made Herians mouth water, though she was too dignified to drool.

Gage the head cook of Winterfell was quick to spot his Lord, and called over a helper to tend to the breads. Gage was a small wiry man, but kind with a large smile. "My Lord." He glanced at Herian and wondered just how much meat she would eat.

"Gage." Eddard smiled. "The Ladies Tyrell have demanded a private dinner, we will be eating lunch in my solar today."

"I will have it sent up my Lord, will your companion be needed anything?" Gage nodded to Herian.

Herian pointed her nose at a large cow bone that still had some meat on it.

"The raw leg of cow you have will be fine." Eddard said.

Gage sighed very slightly with relief, he had no plans for the bone its loss would not be missed.

"How are the stores?" Ned asked.

"Considering the recent strains my Lord, very well. Come harvest they will be replenished." Gage said, dusting his hands on his apron.

After considering for a moment Eddard said. "Gage, while there is no true hurry yet, I have a feeling it will be a long winter, perhaps another long night."

Gages attention snapped the lord.

Ned continued. "Make plans to expand the grainery and stores, if needed we can make use of the caverns below us. Anything that can be stored long term, I want it so. Be it salted, smoked or even frozen, if you need it I will send men out to collect ice."

Winters had been short for the last few decades, but summer had been long and with Herians knowledge he was slightly afraid of winter. Collecting ice was something rarely done in mass, he himself had never seen it happen, in theory he would send cutters out and they would fill one of the caverns below with ice. This would store whatever was in it for longer then salting or smoking would allow. While few knew of this, Eddard knew that most of the work Brandon the builder put into Winterfell, was below ground and if the need arouse he would use this.

Gage shivered, dread grew in his stomach. "I will make plans my Lord."

"Many thanks." Ned and Herian departed for his rooms, he wanted to talk to her.

When they entered Neds rooms, he closed and bolted the door and after some nervous walking Herian shifted back to her human form.

"My Lord?" She asked in all her nude glory.

Eddard was silent for a moment, gazing into the cold hearth.

Herian watched him, she could tell he was thinking about winter. "Tell me about the Crypts and what lies beyond them."

"The crypts are only the uppermost layer of work, I caved in a lowermost passage after I brought Jon home. I will have to have it cleared and restored. Below that there are caverns many times larger than the great hall, stretching far and wide. Spiders, rats the size of dogs, deeper yet there is the hot springs, though I have only visited them once, things live in the water. But the area around them is warm, I have seen many insects and mushrooms growing down there." Eddard walked over to her, he wanted to embrace her but didn't wish to push her so soon.

Herian stepped into Neds embrace and let him draw his cloak around her. She spoke as she rested her head against his chest. "We have similar places at home, the first settlements grandmother made on Vvardenfell are all below the ash. I could send a request home, have plants sent back, we could introduce them to your caverns. Start a fungus farm, while most aren't pleasant to eat they will keep a person full. Beyond that the Bittergreen, Bloat, Green Lichen, are all edible and perhaps I could enquire after a Kwama Queen. Though we would be best to set up a gate between our worlds if we were to try for that." Her mind was going a thousand miles a minute thinking about how to keep them fed come winter.

"You can do that?" Ned asked, she hadn't mentioned that she make permanent gates before.

"Yes and no. I know how to set up the basics, but it is very much a two way thing. A gate would have to be set at home for things to pass through. So long as nothing too powerful tries to come through we shouldn't have any problems, and we will have to figure out what we have to offer for trade."

Eddards mind was exploding with the possibilities of trade with Tamriel, that would be an edge for the north come winter. He hugged her tighter, "How is it whenever I have a problem you hand the answer to me on a golden platter?"

Herian smiled into his shirt. "Luck?"

Ned laughed deeply and kissed her thoroughly. "You are my good luck charm."

Herian blushed and said. "It will be a great deal of work."

"Anything worth while is." Ned replayed.

They stood together for a long moment then Ned sighed. "The Tyrells will be waiting for me. Will you come as you are or as your wolf?"

"Wolf." Herian said without hesitation. "I like not having to talk."

Neds lips twitched into a tiny smile. "That I can understand." He let Herian step away and in the blink of an eye his direwolf had returned.

Together they headed down the hall to Neds solar, the Tyrells were indeaded waiting for them, watching as servants filled Neds family table with a lush meal. Light fluffy breads, heavy thick stews and fine summer wine. Lastly the servants brought Herians bone and much to her surprise a large piece of venison thicker than a mans hand it on a wood platter and set it before the roaring hearth. She wasted no time devouring the meat before settling to work on her bone.

The Tyrells tried to disguise their disgust, but failed rather miserably. It brought Eddard some small satisfaction to make Olenna uncomfortable as she so enjoyed doing the same.

They took their sets and helped themselves to the meal, through Margaery and Olenna ate little.

Olenna only ate a few bites before speaking. "Right then let's get to it. Lord Stark I would like to offer my grand daughter's hand in marriage to create an alliance between our families."

Eddard set down his silverware and level a cold stony look at the pair of them. "No. I will not remarry, if Robb takes a fancy to Margaey then you will have your alliance there. But he is but four and ten, I will not rush to arrange a marriage for him."

Olenna had not expected a flat refusal, but if he wasn't marrying anyone then there was hope yet. She pursed her lips. "That is agreeable."

Margaeys' heart did a little leap for joy, Robb was so much warmer than his father and his first born, she might still have a chance at being Queen in the North yet.

A loud crunch filled the air as Herian bit through her bone and started breaking it up and licking out the marrow.

Margaey shuddered at the sound, and tired to pick up the conversation. "Do you have plans for a harvest feast my Lord?"

"To call in the mountain tribes and small foke to Wintertown as early as possible. I believe the winter will be long and will be storing as much as possible. The feast will be as lush as the stores allow." In other words, enough to make people happy, but nothing special.

"I am sure the small foke will appreciate your forethought in the middle of winter." Margaey said with a soft smile.

"One can hope." Eddard said.

 **The plan here changed several times, in the first draft Herian left the north before Ned could catch her, but logic over ruled that. So that plan has been moved back a bit, but it will still happen. MUAHAHAHA I have plans for some solo adventuring for Herian, I really look forward to showing that side of her character. She is by far my most complicated hardest to write original character to date, I think that might also be why she is my favorite. So that is my I am so happy this chapter is done speel. :P**

 **Thank you to DarkBlight, BrutusSilentium and Aes21 for your reviews.  
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	28. Chapter 28

**Sorry about how long it took, I hope you like it Aesir21. Also did no one catch Patchface in the chapter Round Two? I made a mistake there and it has been fixed. If you don't know how Patchface is as he is a Song of Fire and Ice book character and has not been featured in the show LOOK HIM UP! I plan to use him much the same way Martin has. The song Patchface sings here is called A Gifted Man Brings Gifts Galore, from the Witcher 3 Hearts of Stone DLC. To any Witcher players here, well I hope you get just how big a deal it is that that song is being sung. Needless to say I look forward to writing Herian hearing it, heheheh, it will scare the shit out of her. On last thing, if anyone wants me to explain CHIM, I will.**

Reflections II

After Eddard left the hall conversation struck back up as the Lord, Ladies and their entourages tried to make sense of what just happened.

A brain addled boy by the name of Patchface and a the young Shireen Baratheon danced hand in hand while Patchface sang out.

 _"His Smile fair as spring, as towards him he draws you._

 _His tongue sharp and silvery as he implores you._

 _Your wishes he grants, as he swears to adore you._

 _Gold, silver, jewels he lay riches before you._

 _Dues need be repaid and he will come for you._

 _All to reclaim, no smile to console you._

 _He'll snare you in bonds, eyes glowing afire._

 _To gore and torment you until the stars expire."_

Around and around Patchface and Shireen went, the adults remaining delightfully oblivious to the songs implications.

Umber took a drink, he had been front and centre when the Nerevarine ripped open a hole is time and space. The power radiating off her had been amazing, even the air coming off her had felt hot, like a massive bonfire. He was sitting on a bench and after a long drink he spoke louding to all who would listen. "Just what in the name of the Old Gods was that?"

Jon spoke up, he had Alysane had come down from the high table. "The Nerevarine, a let's just go with Higher Power from Nirn, Herian's homeworld." He sat down across from Jon Umber, Alysane sat beside him.

"Higher power?" Melisandre was quick to come over.

"She was a mortal but she mantled a 'dead' god and has become a god herself. She is Herians grandmother, but the power to travel been worlds is also hers. Though the Greaters Laws, do impose some rules on that." Jon swirled his drink. "Herian checks in often, I guess the Nerevarine got worried."

"How?" Jon Umber asked.

Jon shrugged. " Herian writes her letters. Herian has told bits and pieces of her story but beyond that it gets rather confusing, Herian doesn't keep many books on the topic. Though I would guess that was a rip rather than a jump like Cirilla does."

"Lorkhan?" Melisandre asked.

"Nirns gods are messy, Lorkhan was one that others killed, the False Tribunal used his heart to gain godhood, The Nerevarine killed them and became a God in turn. Since then she is the uh, well Tamriel is the major content of Nirn and is ruled under an Empire, the Nerevarine picked out the Emperor. Herian would be much better at explaining it." Jon took a sip, seeing Nerevar had unsettled him. He had read about her, read many books she had written, but seeing was believing.

Lady Mormont sat on a opposite bench. "I take you it you more about this Conjunction of Spheres then you father."

Others collected, Stannis, Tywin, both Maesters and Baelish.

"Probably, Herian hasn't spoke to me about it. But I know when Harimand came to visit she got him to some tests, figure out what was going on."

"Harimand?" Alysane asked.

"Herians uncle, a lesser power so travel is easier for him, he doesn't make as big of messes as Nerevarine. He came, and he and Herian had a big spar in the fields then traded news and he did some of his magic. Our world is part of the Conjunction of spheres, its when the 'walls' between worlds thin and people, things can fall between worlds. It's how Herian got here."

"Nonsense." Maester Cressen said.

"Would you like me to fetch the Leshen skull? Or my sword of Ebony? I assure you neither are of our world, my sword has a soul bound to it and will kill any who try to use it. Just look at Herian her kind are in no story, not for here or Essos." Jon glared at the Maester.

"What is she?" Melisandre asked.

"Lots of things, her race, well she is a hybrid of Dunmer also called a Dark Elf and Khajiit. Her father is half Khajiit and you all saw him." Jon put his drink down on the table behind him.

The giant panther man had not escaped their notice.

"Beyond that she is a dragonborn, which is a mortal born with the blood and soul of a dragon. They have the power to use a Thu'um and absorb a dragons' soul." He leaned against the table. "You'll have to ask her for more, I doubt she would want me to tell you everything."

"Why not?" Stannis asked, he wished to know more. He had not missed Eddards familiar manner with the elf, just what did the Lord of the North have at his beck and call. The more he heard the more wary he was, dragon's blood, but if what he had seen was anything to go by. What she had was far far far greater than anything the Targaryens had boasted.

Jon shrugged. "Herian can go on for hours with stories, explain and explain. But she doesn't trust easy, anything really important you won't hear from her. I am her apprentice so she is honest with me, but you I don't know and she doesn't know. So you won't hear anything that she hasn't told others from me." He glared at the King of the South.

Stannis almost snapped at the teen, but then this wasn't his kingdom.

Melisandre was mulling over this information, the boy was near as stony as his father, prying information from him would be difficult.

Cressen was grumbling to himself, magic was a wild thing that had no place in the world as far as he was concerned. He had been greatly disturbed when a raven arrived saying that the glass candles had lite. From beyond the sea firemages were gaining power rapidly and the mages of Rhoynar were holding sway over water again. Then there was the reports of the Targaryen girl and her dragons. He glared at Melisandre and that blasted Red woman and her Lord of Light, he was sure she had a magic of her own as well. While the maesters lacked numbers so far, but the current estimate was one in one thousand people were starting to show some sort of magic. Be it command of a element or witches becoming more effective than maesters in healing. Be in here in the north or across the narrow sea. On top of that there were the monsters, reports from far and wide, but so far they were little things, easily killed.

"Still explain this Tamriel? Where is it? It is a land of magic?" Melisandre asked.

"Tamriel is on a different plane of oblivion. Oblivion is… many things, it's the space between planes and the makeup of planes. If it helps," he put down its cup and held up his hands one over the other. "Tamriel is my right hand, our world is my left. Normally they would be like this." He moved his hands so they were far apart but still on the same level as before. "But with a Conjunction of spheres." He moved his hands back. "The walls between worlds are weak, right place at the wrong time and people, monsters, things can fall through. This is what happened to Herian. Special people, like Herians Grandmother and her uncle Harimand and aunt Ciri. Have the power to freely move between worlds, without the aid of a Conjunction." He rested his hands in his lap. "Harimand learned it from Ciri who is Elder blood, also known as the Lady of Space and Time. The Nerevarine, mantled one of Tamriels' gods and gained the power that way." He picked up his cup again. "One of Herians sermons of Vivec mentions CHIM, but it is only mentioned as another way to achieve divinity. Magic saturates Tamriel, it's a really big story I don't know most of it."

"So in theory we could travel there." Melisandre said.

"In theory, our world has places of power. But as far as I know only Herian really knows how to use them." Jon wasn't sure he should be saying any of this.

"How do you know all this boy?" Stannis asked, hoping it wasn't just word of mouth.

"Herian has many books, though most are in Dunmeri." Was all Jon chose to say.

The people listening didn't quite know what to make of this, it's hard to deny when the proof walks up and slaps you in the face.

* * *

Petyr lurked through Winterfell listening and learning, he had tried a few times to approach Sansa but Sandor was still following her around like a lost puppy. For now he admitted defeat on that front, she was simply too well protected at the moment. Besides he still had to get rid of Lord Starks male heirs, he had been working on how to accomplish without it leading back to him. So far he had one servant, two whores and two stable boys in his pocket. At least information from the North would be steady now.

He slinked through the great keep listening with all his might. Candle light creeped from under Jons door and he heard. "Luvahr luhn en silvar, ohuhn bahnid evernal." There was a long pause then a frustrated grumble. "Under moon and star, we stand eternal. Damn it Herian way haven't you mentioned any of this?" There was a cracking of turning pages, more muttering. "These are the words of House Indoril, long may they live. House Indoril, reborn under Lord Nerevar Incarnate. Our great Nerevarine took the name of her first body and refound the House of Indoril and restored Great House Telvanni to glory. To this day the Indoril stand as, what in the old gods?" More scratching. "Guardians, to the peoples of Tamriel, currently Korta sixth born of the Nerevarine acts as head of the Rangers and commander of the Calvary. After the death of his father Dar Shaar at the hands of the Thamlor scum." There was another pause. "Well you can sure tell who wrote this." Tap, tap, Jon must have a quill in hand Petyr thought. "Ugh, okay from the top, hmm why do I get the feeling that Herian doesn't even know she has this book? Thank you Nerevarine."

Jon read allowed checking his translation. "House Indoril, Under Moon and Star we stand Eternal. These are the words of House Indoril, long may they live. House Indoril, reborn under Lord Nerevar Incarnate. Our great Nerevarine took the name of her first body and refounded the House of Indoril and restored Great House Telvanni to glory. To this day the Indorils' stand as guardians to the peoples of Tamriel. Currently Korta sixth born of the Nerevarine acts as head of the Rangers and commander of the Calvary with his partner dragon Odahviing. After the death of his father Dar Shaar at the hands of the Thamlor scum. Currently there are nine members to the house, the first three are holy born, the perfection of our Nerevarine. First born Arianna pure Dunmer sired by the Telvanni Master Daryth Fyr. Arianna twin to Garrett both possess their mothers' immortality, the eternal youth of the first born. Arianna is rarely seen in Tamriel preferring to wander the realms. Garrett second born, sired by Master Daryth Fyr, like this twin he is rarely seen, little is known about Garrett. Third born and last sired by Master Daryth Fyr, Ghanima. Ghanima is the last of the perfection of our Nerevarine, immortal like her elders. Ghanima has been seen for family events to visit her younger sibling Chani, at her place of residence. Ghanima is the last of Nerevarines' children to be born without the gift of Hircine. Unlike her elders she is pale of skin, the red hair of the Nerevarine is her most defining feature. Recently she gave birth to a half human child Irulan, Irulan has never been seen in Tamriel aside from her birth." Jon sent his quill down, he was getting better at translating, he mostly did it for his fathers' sake now, he moved on. " Fifth and sixth born Korta and Chani, twins sired by Dar Shaar. These half Khajiit are the most visible of the Nerevarines children, Korta is known to possess the gift of Hircine, there is no documentation of Chani shifting. Chani's place of residence resides in the Ashlands of Morrowind in the shadow of the Velothi Mountains, it is a large Telvanni structure. Korta most often lives with his sister but is frequently called away. Those seeking Korta should check in Blacklight first." Jon paused and took a sip of water, Petyr heard the cup hit the table. "Seventh born sired by the Companion Vilkas Keria current Harbinger of the Companions. Keria is half Nord and shows it strongly, she leads the Companions and can most commonly be found in the city of Whiterun of Skyrim." Jon pressed his lips together. "Wait a second, where is number four?" He scanned the pages again, nope no fourth born. "Weird."

There was a page break and a new heading. "Harimand adopted, last child of the Nerevarine. Beyond his station as a Witcher, little is known about Harimand or where he came from. He is a frequent traveler between worlds and should be looked for at Blacklight."

"Second generation. Irulan born 4E 215. Herian born 4E 215, place of residence mobile. Herian sired by Korta carried by the Telvanni sorceress Neevan. Herian spent most of her youth with her uncle Harimand training as a witcher. She and Harimand moved between worlds for much of her youth. She is known to possess little familiarity with her father or mother as shortly after she was weaned of her mothers milk she was moved to the safety of the Witcher school Kaer Morhen. Over the years it has been reported that she returned many times to spend time with her parents. It is not till the 235 year of the fourth era that Herian moves into the public view. The Thamlor working with the accursed Sload killed her mother. Though reasons as to why are unknown. Herian has been known to hunt the Thamlor to the present day, mostly working alone. Though one should take note of the battle of Fort Alvnor, at it was the greatest calling of the Rangers and Calvary since the Ebonheart War. Trust in me dear readers two dragonborns on the front lines is a terrifying thing. Thus concludes the edition of the White book of House Indoril, 4E 237." Jon rubbed his eyes, thinking that this book must have been published shortly before Herian came to his world. No wonder she didn't like talking about her past, she must have spent the last few years hunting her mothers killers. He looked down at the page, this book was publish two years after she started, just what was the current date in Tamriel? How many years had she spent killing Thamlor? He had a feeling the story was a long and a lot deeper than this author knew about. He got up and blew out his candle, he'd have to give his translation to his father, let him figure out how to pry more information out of her.

Petyr moved silently away when the candle went out, that had been informative. It sounded like the 'Dragonborns' were very powerful warriors. Thought what was more interesting was that the different races of her family, if Herian was capable of producing heirs for Lord Stark. Then she was a threat to his plan, he would have to speak with Melisandre and the Maesters when they departed. He felt it was safe to say no one wanted the future Starks to have the elfs' blood in their veins.

* * *

Tywin Lannister watched Lord Stark walk away to dine with the Tyrells, the wolf walked beside the Stark. Lord Baelish had approached him with some interesting information that morning and to find the elf gone was a relief. He would have to order his men to keep an eye out on the Kingsroad when they headed south. If she could be turned to the Lannister cause the potential boons were great. He reached into his pocket and thumbed Cerseis' letter, an Altmer or that was what he called himself. Had arrived two nights ago and unceremoniously had been brought to Casterly Rock. So far there had been a bit of a language issue, but Cersei said she was devoting her time to him. Tywin had half a mind to arrange a marriage to a Frye for Cersei after her stupidity in Kings Landing, but if this Altmer took a liking to her, then maybe she had use yet.

Jamie had been cast rather adrift after being removed from the Kingsguard, if the Starks continued to slight the Tyrells then maybe an alliance could be made there. Tywin smirked so far it was shaping up to be a good day.

* * *

The sun was setting on Casterly Rock, Moradil Thrombinder watched as it sank down to the waves. His armour was black Daedric styled after the Thamlor wizards robes, the black metal was accented in gold with a gold eagle centered on his chest. The pauldrons were large and heavy, in two pieces one raised up to protect his neck then another to layers tucked underneath that covered his arms to the elbow. The gauntlets were fine and elegant but again, layered with a heavier protective piece. Under a heavy belt of armour, was a black split skirt, under that black plate leggings with boots that reached up to cover and protect his knees. All highlighted and layered in gold moonstone. His winged helm sat on a table, to stare at him. His Daedric and Malachite staff resting behind the helm. It was only slightly taller than him, equally good for channeling magic or beating people over the head, it look odd and still, whenever it was in his hand the runes came to life and swam over the metals.

His hair was an inky black, his cheeks so sharp were someone to slap him they would cut themselves. His eyes narrow and sinister, a dark gold, he did not turn when the woman entered the room again. One of the first things they did was exchange names, but he couldn't bring himself to address the human by her name, for now she would just be the woman.

Moradil resisted the urge to roll his eyes, she was speaking again, her voice grated his nerves. The human tongue was simple enough but again he had no desire to speak the lesser language.

Servants brought food into the room, he watched the humans cower under his sharp gaze. "Muhri madir ehlna." His voice was soft and smooth, with it alone he had lured many a maiden to bed.

The woman's brow twitched at the use of his tongue, though many words were the same as the Dunmer. Blasted Dark Elves and their new Goddess.

Moradil turned his attention the woman again, she was past her prime yet held herself as if she was a great beauty. Well he supposed for a human she was rather lovely, she only came up to his chest but then he was a high elf that referred to more than their views. Tall, slender and graceful, she walked with as much elegance as a human could. Her skin was fair and her eyes an emerald green. He had never seen her in anything other than fine silk gowns, a few had been quite thin.

The servants departed with as much grace as they could and the woman asked him to join her for a meal. They had shared every meal since his coming, but she always asked. Moradil watched her take her place, watched her watch him.

He considered speaking in her lesser human tongue, he could only play this game for so long and he wanted to know more about this world. Word was it that Herian had gone missing near a year ago, this had been a great boon to his people. But a Conjunction of Spheres was in play, she could have very easily ended up here. The last thing he wanted was a werewolf to eat his heart, but then she was the weakest of that infernal family maybe he could defeat her. He shivered in delight at the thought, or even better having one of the Indorils under him, that thought near made him purr with delight.

Cersei squirmed under the High Elf's gaze, it felt like he was staring into her soul.

"What is it you want mortal?" Moradil asked in his honeyed voice.

Cersei's gaze snapped to him and she smiled.


	29. Chapter 29

**What Melisandre sees is 100% biology, anyone familiar with human reproductive systems should get it, plus there was neat study about the change in a males behavior when their female is most fertile. What she sees Nerevar has mentioned in OsaS, and it not a new concept.**

King of Winter

The great hall of Winterfell was filled to the brim, but not for the crowning but instead for the vote. Each Lord and Lady was given two carved pieces, on a circle the other a triangle, both had a round hole cut into the centre. Circle for Stark, triangle for Bolton, both men stood below the Throne of Winterfell to watch as each individual came up and placed their vote.

This was a quicker process when one would guess, Bolton ended up with seven votes, only the houses sworn to the Boltons. Lord Stark had elven his sworn houses and a few of the lesser houses, much of the north wasn't present for this gathering and the southern houses weren't allowed to vote.

Maester Luwin declared Lord Stark the winner and a break was called.

Lord Stark and his direwolf forwent eating lunch with everyone else instead went to the Godswood where he would be crowned.

Ned started into the Weirwoods face silent and blank.

Herian cocked her head at him and shifted back to her elven skin. She stepped into him with a hug, slipping her arms around his middle under his cloak. Ned gathered his cloak around her and they stood silent.

The snow was cold under Herian's bare feet but she didn't mind, it was very clear that her Lord needed a hug.

Eddard wondered if the Old Gods wanted a King in the North, if he really was the best choice. He had been Warden of the North since his father and brother had died, King was really no different. He just didn't have to answer to Stannis to anyone really. He let his cheek rest on the top of Herians head, well maybe to one person. Ned sighed and closed his eyes, nothing would really change, except perhaps paying more attention the to Boltons. They didn't seem the type to take defeat with grace. He hugged Herian tighter, he had to remind himself that she didn't need or really want his protection.

"It will be alright." Herian said softly into his chest.

Ned sighed again. "I know, but nothing good has ever happened from such drastic changes. The Boltons had more support than I thought they had, I've just painted a target on my family."

"You still won by a large margin, when winter comes and the Boltons can not feed their lesser houses and you can." Herian knew the power of food. "The best way to anyone's heart is through their stomachs."

Ned chuckled softly. "Trust you to say that. Do I just need to feed you more?"

Herian smiled. "No"

A little of the tightness in Neds chest eased, he looked to the Weirwoods face again. After mulling it over in his mind for a while he asked. "Why do you hide from your ancestory?"

Herian stiffened and was silent.

Ned ran a hand up and down her spine, petting.

Herian felt her eyes doop and had to work not to purr, damn him he was figuring out her buttons.

Neds lips twitched when she tried to stay tense but ended up relaxing against his chest. He ran his hands down over her butt and picked her up, on reflex Herian wrapped her legs around his waist. Ned walked over to the Weirwood and sat underneath out of the snow, Herian moved her legs to his sides and he wrapped his cloak around her completely. It took several more minutes of pets before Herian answered him. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I guessed that, I bet if your grandmother hadn't shown you would have let me go on thinking you were just bastard born and nothing special." He drew small circles just above her tailbone with his index fingers.

"I am bastard born." The elf said.

"In context that is not unusual or truly noteworthy." Eddard said.

Herian had to smile at that. "I guess."

"You are avoiding my question." He said with a slight smile.

She pressed a kiss to his neck.

"I will not be distracted." He had to smile that time.

"Darn." Herian muttered against his skin and pulled away, so he could see her face.

"I won't tell anyone else, these are your secrets, but they are affecting me. Affecting what we could have, nothing you say will make me love you any less." He watched her bite her lip, her usually Ashander sharp features seemed less so now, though she still had a rather lot of weight to regain from her illness. Her eyes were still slightly sunken and her cheeks hollowed, she held a tired air about her.

Slowly Herian started to speak. "Indorils are the most powerful individuals in Tamriel, one way or another. Imagine what that was like to be a child growing up surrounded by that. I had no friends outside of the family because everyone was afraid of me. It was part of the reason I was moved to Kaer Morhen so early. There I was just another recruit, at least for a while. Most Witchers are pretty open minded and they haven't seem Nerevar in action, so they don't know to be afraid." She shook her head. "Freak, bastard. I was five before Chani had had enough and moved me to Kaer Morhen, at least there I could make friends with the other children and Irulan." She wrung her hands nervously. "Then when I was nine I started to show signs of Lycanthropy, then it was werewolf freak, beast, half blood, you get the idea. That pretty much sums up the environment I grew up in. Eventually I learned that if I didn't give my full name or worked really hard to suppress my wolf. Then peopled liked me more, I was just that little bit more normal. I went through most of my life with Harry, we just didn't give last names. We were just Sers, Harimand and Herian of Toussaint. Sure I was a dark elf and stuck out like a sore thumb, but it worked."

Eddard listened silently, stroking up and down her back. He was starting to get the bigger picture, being treated like that would mess with anyone's head.

"After my mothers death I stayed in Tamriel and was exposed to another side of my family I had been avoiding. Politics, because I am the least of my family, I am the most marriageable as far as the Counts, Lords, Jarls and Kings are concerned. So I went from being an unfit lycanthrope to political play thing. What was worse was that most of them didn't even care about me, I was just an Indoril to be married for my name but never bedded. All of them too high on the horses to risk mixing their blood with a werewolfs." She took a shaken breath. "Around this time I was still… hunting Thamlor, that didn't help with my standing. Just reinforced their view of me as a tool, I was doing a less than glamorous job so they didn't have to commit troops or gold to it. I hate being defined by who my family are and not who I am."

Herian hugged herself. "When I came here, sure I was different and strange but no one knew who I was, who my family was. I was finally free of them, so I tried to be different. Squish my murderous tendency, I tried to be kind and honest not snapping at people cause they were staring. I regret giving my titles before all the nobles here but I didn't know what else to do. Now people will start defining me by them." She leaned back down and snuggled into Ned. "I like being no one."

Eddard wrapped her arms around her he had always been a Stark, but he could understand her in this. Before his father and brother had been murdered, he had been, well not important. Sure he was a Stark but not heir to Winterfell, there had been no marriage proposals till Brandon had been killed forcing Ned to marry Catylen instead. The Quiet wolf they called him, to his elder brothers Wild Wolf. But that had given him some small freedom, being the spare, he had created a bastard with that freedom. He looked down at his elf, she seemed so small right now, after giving her just a brief glimpse deeper into her. She reminded him of Jon now, bastard, freak he would gladly run Ice through whoever called her those things. Sticks and Stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me. What hogwash, words are the most dangerous of weapons, and their scars last much longer than any blades.

Herian giggled into his chest.

He raised a brow.

"The heir, the spare and the bastard." She said.

Eddards lips twitched upward. "True words never spoken."

"Once the Septims did actually have to use the bastard, we crowned a bastard emperor, sure he died less than a day later. But he did his job." Martin Septim had always been a bit of role model to her.

"Job?" Ned asked.

"Lite the Dragon Fires, kicked Mehrunes Dagon back into Oblivion. He even got to be an Avatar of Akatosh, now he's a stone dragon in the Temple of the One. After that things went downhill for just about everyone for the first time almost four and a half centuries there was no Septim on the Ruby Throne. Though I was born significantly after this, though things are still shit. Just less obvious shit." She grumbled, the Nerevarine had the power to raise the seas, while whole civilizations out, yet she let the Thamlor keep on kicking after they surrendered. It wasn't illegal to be a werewolf or vampire anymore, now they were all on a list. At least now you had to offend, before a Ranger was sent for your head.

"In my experience life will always be shit somehow." Eddard said.

Herian pulled away and stared at him, then burst into giggles. "I think that is the first time I have heard you swear."

Ned smiled at her. "I think it was appropriate." It was nice to see her smile.

The elf covered her mouth with a hand trying to stifle her giggles, she failed miserably.

He watched her smiling, she was what? Two and six? He had been Lord of Winterfell for some time by her age, mayhap that aged him prematurely but she seemed so young in this moment. "Come here you." He pulled her by her hips flush with his and kissed her lips thoroughly.

Herian purred responding with enthusiasm, she felt a bit better after their talk. It didn't undo a lifetime of being ostracized but it helped, so did the affection.

They ended up just sitting together till Herian heard voices in the Godswood, at which she hopped off his lap and became Huntress again.

Ned stood and brushed the specks of snow and dirt from his cloak, he spotted Jon walking with his siblings and Maester Luwin. He almost smiled, there was something he and Stannis had discussed in the event he became King. He was looking forward to giving Jon is rightful place.

The Direwolf pups, ran ahead of their equals and 'attacked' Herian with happy yips and head bumping. The Stark children all laughed at this, the pups were defiantly helping with Eddards story that Huntress was their mother. Herian was still much larger than them after a few deep happy rumbles from Herian they arranged themselves into a pile of fluff. Nymeria somehow claiming a spot between Heiran's shoulders.

Eddard had to chuckle at them, shocking many of those who did not truly know the Stark. His family made a half ring as Ned stepped around to the opposite side of the dark pool of the Weirwood to greet them.

The northmen made another half ring several meters behind them, forcing the southerners to follow suit. Stannis was the only person outside of the Stark family to approach the Weirwood, though he stayed back respectfully. This was not of his people, he had no part in it.

Luwin pulled the crown of the Kings of the North from his sleeve, for so long it had laid forgotten in Winterfells treasury. The crown was shaped as an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes in the shape of longswords.

Lord Stark kneeled before Luwin, bowing his head.

Luwin spoke. "The Old Gods have no words, or priests." He had been thinking about his words for days, regardless of who won the words would be important. For Bolton he would have said King in the North, but Eddard was different. He spoke again loudly and clearly. "It falls to the Maester of Winterfell to crown our King." He set the bronze crown on King Starks head. Rise Eddard Stark, King of Winter." The Stark rose smoothly, putting some effort into keeping the action perfect.

At the title the Lord and Ladies of the Great houses of the north had sucked in a breath. There was a very important difference between King in the North, and King of Winter. A king in the north could be dethroned, it was a new thing, temporary thing in a way, but a King of Winter. That was a much older thing, that hadn't been used for many centuries long before even Torrhen knelt to Aegon.

The words sent a chill down Melisandre's spine, Eddards eyes had turned into a hard storm grey. The way he rose, he made him seem younger stronger, she could practically see the power in him now. His fire did not burn like Stannis's, his fire was a cold thing, a thing of the Great Other. Melisandre felt fear stab into her heart, this was no named King. This was an old power that had found its home again.

King Stark turned to his Lords and the Lords grew their swords. "KING OF WINTER!" They chanted.

Herian left the lay lines swell and shift centralize on Eddard, she cocked her head at the Weirwood, maybe there really was something of a power to them. She could tell she wasn't the only one who felt it. Melisandre shivered, Jon seemed to swell and glow with power, his half siblings also felt a slight shift they would have felt more but they were less attuned than Jon.

At the Citadel a black glass candle flared an artic blue before turned back to orange. The North was shielded from the Maesters eyes now, its power now centred and strong.

Compelled by nameless force Herian raised her head to the sky and howled a long powerful sound, the pups around her joining in for one long song. As they howled the Lords sheathed their swords and listened to the direwolves song. When Herian lowered her head so did the pups and they sat silent to watch the next proceeding.

Stannis now stepped forward, and slight bowed in respect to the King of Winter. "My fellow King."

King Stark returned the slight bow perfectly equally. "My friend."

Stannis stepped beside Eddard and said. "Jon Snow, come forth."

Jon was surprised but he did as moving from his place beside Rickon on Stannis's left. When instructed he kneeled before the King in the South and the King of the North.

"King Stark and myself have discussed at length and as a symbol of the alliance between our peoples. You will be a Snow no more, by the power of the North and South rise Jon Stark of Winterfell." Stannis took some small pride in this, like many others he had seen Jons' metal to was high time he was recognised for it.

Jon looked up into his fathers face and had to smile at the warm look Eddard was giving him.

"Rise Jon Stark." Eddard said in his usual soft voice.

Jon rose feeling overwhelmed he had never in a thousand years thought this moment would come.

Eddard reached out and pulled Jon into a short embrace, softly saying. "I have wished for this since your birth."

He let go and Jon pulled away. "Thank you father."

Ned smiled and nodded for Jon to return to his place, but instead all the Starks save Robb shifted. Rickon at Bran prodding moved into Jons old place at the left end of the half ring, Sansa moved down leaving her place as second born beside Robb open. Jon walked to his new place beside his elder brother of a two months.

Robb smiled at him, happy to have his brother finally where he belonged.

Stannis returned to his place by his wife and Melisandre, Ned took charge again. "Under the Old Gods, we are seen. Let this moment echo through history, the North withdraws from the Kingdoms and will now stand alone. Now let us return to hearth and hall, to celebrate the start of a new era for the North."

The Lords and Ladies departed first, followed by the southern foke and their king. The Direwolf pups headed off with their corresponding partner. Luwin with the children Jon and Robb helping the elder man. Eddard and Herian hung back and when they had all moved out of sight Herian shifted back. "That was short."

"No ceremonies, no writings, no priests, Luwin looked it up in his books. This was the best we could find as to how a crowning went." Eddard said, looking over to her. "Be my Queen?" He spoke in a jesting tone, already knowing her answer.

"No." Herian said in the same tone.

"Then I shall ask again next month." Eddard said and they started off.

Herian gave him a very unimpressed look.

"And I will keep asking till you say yes." He finished.

Herian just shook head and smiled. "Thank you."

Eddard clasped his hands behind his back. "You intend to remain a wolf for the celebration?"

"Aye, or I'll hide in my room, depends on how loud it gets." Herian said.

"Very I imagine, I've ordered the aged Mead for tonight. Singers and mummers, I have even heard of this one by the name of Abel who is said to even be able to sing in the Old Tongue." Ned said.

"Then I will keep an ear out." They started to catch up to the party, Herian turned back into her wolf form.

When they made it back to the great hall the tables had been cleared or moved to the sides and many musicians had taken places upon stands. Unlike two nights ago, this party was just for the nobility so even with the tables moved to the sides there was room for everyone.

Eddard climbed the old steps and sat the white Throne of Winterfell, as soon as he was seated talk struck up in full and the musicians started up there tunes. Herian laid down by his feet, he reached out and buried a hand in her thick pelt.

None were hungry as of yet, so the first songs were dances, Lords and Ladies and their children quickly filled the floor. Though their were notably more Ladies, five young ladies were trading Robb and Jon between them, much to the teens delight. It was rather amusing how much warmer they were to Jon now that he was the second prince of Winter.

Ned found it oddly calming to be up on his throne watching the people below him, his people. He could easily pick out his family, he suppressed his smile when Sansa pulled the huge Sandor Clegane into the floor to dance with her. The sight was quite comical, a huge hound and his little bird. Ned did smile at how carefully Sandor danced with Sansa. He was clearly smitten with his little girl, while Ned was not sure of the man yet. Perhaps when Sansa was older he would allow Sandor to make his feelings known. He was sure he could find some small Keep somewhere for them to make a home of. He stroked between Herian's shoulder blades, she purred softly in deep rumbles.

After the first two dances, Lady Margaery came up to the throne and curtsied low. "My King, would you do me the honor of the next dance?"

Eddard wished to say no, but also knew it would be unwise. Instead he rose and offered Lady Margaery his hand and they descended the steps to join in the dances.

Herian watched them and growled softly, her eyes never leaving Margaery, one dance lead to another and other, other ladies collected around him. Herian tried hard not to snarl when a lady partly threw herself at the king. The collected around him like fish, only taking up another man to dance with when, Ned was occupied and always tried again for the next dance.

She wanted to go down there and pull them away from him, maybe skip rope with one's intestines. Unable to watch anymore she got up and slipped from the Great Hall.

Eddard saw her leave but was pulled into another dance with Margaery the sea of people too thick for him to escape.

Herian jogged away from the loud hall only turning back to her elven shape when in the Great keep. She all but tore her door off its hinges in her anger. "PLOUGHING HELLS!" She snarled, walking over to punch her bedding so she wouldn't do herself or the walls any injury.

"Fucking harpies!" She raised her fists and punched over and over. "Vipers, bloody opportunists!" Punch, punch, punch, with another frustrated shout she turned around and flopped down on her bed. It smelled strongly of Ned, that did nothing to appease her anger. She rolled over and screamed. "FUCK!" Her fury turned into a whine and she buried her face into the fur pelts that covered the bed. The elf rolled back over and rubbed her eyes with her palms. "Fuck." Her eyes flicked over to her wardrobe, where the dress Harimand had set her and her house cloak were hidden away.

She sat up her legs hanging over the edge of the bed, she stared at the wardrobe. Plough Harimand and his foresight, it would be so easy, go over get dressed take her mate back from those vultures.

Leaning over she buried her hands in her hair, but she had spent the last day hiding from them, if she did that she would be centre stage again. The imagine of Margaery dancing with Ned with her low cut dress and perfect smile filled her head.

"FUCK!" She leaped from the bed and stormed over to the wash closest. After the fastest cloth bath in history she walked over to the chest Harry and sent her things in and dug around. "Where the hell is it Harry?" she grumbled but then found it. A small white pot that just a bit larger than her hand. She unscrewed the lid and dipped a finger into it.

The white paint snaked up her arm, leaving her family clan markings in its wake. They reached up to her face, and down to her ankles in a tapering curl. The white paint tranced her brow to taper into her hairline with three white dots placed evenly above. Across her cheeks is sloped in the same tapered fashion and a single white line was drawn from the top of her lip in middle to her chin. The rest of the paint followed the curves of her body, often making her look fuller. Two long lines flowed over her shoulders down over her breasts to their peaks, down her sides the same lines followed her ribs to again split and flow over her womb. One line leading down to her sex, another moving toward her middle just above the first, three white dots like on her face above those. Around her legs the lines flow splitting once on the outside of her thighs and once on the side always curling inwards. Her back and arms followed the same pattern each brake for the main line had three white dots that shined with gold.

Herian shivered and pulled her finger out of the paint and screwed the lid back on tight. She attacked her hair with her brush, putting more effort into it then she ever normally did. Thankfully it was still fine from the morning and all she really had to do was tidy it.

Sweeping over to wardrobe she yanked it open and pulled her dress from where she had stashed it at the back. She glared at the white and gold material, Nerevarine had woven magic into it. Gritting her teeth. "Dohtrohtekemseht mehtekem."

The dress became gold and white wisps flowed around her and reformed. It hide her thinness well, covering her ribs and the sharp bones of her hips. The air was suddenly cool on her exposed skin and she sucked in a deep breath. It was the same one she had worn to her first council meeting, soft lush silks, shinnying moonstone.

Herian shook her head and grabbed the matching boots and her cloak from the wardrobe. Walked over to her bed, set the cloak down on it and pulled the boots on. She glanced over to her bedside table, her crown was still where Ned had left it. Again she paused conflict running rampant through her. "Why is this so hard?" She mused aloud.

"Because my Queen you are still afraid."

Herian's head whipped around to find Maester Luwin in her room, in her frenzy she had totally missed his entry. "How~." Herian shook her head, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.

"My King Stark would have been in a much fouler mood upon his return if you had not come home. Knowing that it wasn't hard to figure out." Luwin wobbled slowly into her room.

"I am not afraid." Herian said.

"You are, of what I do not know. But you are, watching you growl was the Ladies took turns dancing with our new King made me wonder. Then when you stormed away I thought it wise to follow. Though," he walked over to her crown and picked the light thing up. "I did not expect this." Looking at its fine dragon designs and thin golden threads. "You have nothing to be afraid of, you are an oddity but one people are growing accustomed too. The household already loves you for your care of first Jon and then Ned. The Starks have grown to love you, even Robb who knows you not. In the eyes of many you have been Neds Queen since you first laid with him." He set the crown on Herians head, arranging the golden strands over her hair.

Herian blushed and tried not to think about who many people already knew.

"Come back with me and rescue your love." Luwin said with warmth, quickly deciding that coming to check on her had been very wise indeed.

Herian stood and swept her soft white and gold cloak onto her shoulders clipping it in place. "Okay." She said softly.

The pair made their way back to the Great Hall coming in the back door. As they approached two servants saw they pair and stared wide eyed, before spinning on their heels and taking flight back to the kitchens.

Herian stalled in her step and started to turn back the way they had come.

Luwin grabbed her elbow and stopped her with a tug. "They are just going back to tell the kitchens, as I said the household loves you. Right now they are probably popping open a keg to celebrate your return."

The elf bit her lip and let Luwin lead her forward they got to the last door before she stopped again her heart beating like a panicked rabbits in her chest. Stepping away from Luwin she pressed a hand to her bare chest and took several deep breaths, fighting the panic attack. "I don't think I can do this."

Now Luwin understood, he knew stage fright when he saw it, many a young Lord or Lady needed help working through it. "They are just people."

"Scary people." Herian corrected him.

Luwin shook his head. "Just people, many of which went through what you are right now. You won't even have to talk, just go to my king and he will do the rest. Chin up, shoulders back, and smile."

For those last six words Herian heard not Luwin but Harimand, his love, his kind teasing tone. She took a last shaky breath and stood straight pushed her shoulders back, smiled and pushed the door open and stepped into the great hall.

Eddard was getting annoyed from being passed from lady to lady, their bright smiles and soft eyes. Blues, browns even a few greens, but none were the volcanic red he wanted.

The music came to a screeching halt as the musicians were suddenly distracted, annoyed people looked to them, then followed there gaze Ned included.

He was floored by the angel that had just walked into his hall, white accented her ashen skin making her glow with youth. He heard one or two southern's wonder aloud if the Maiden had come to visit them. Her dress was the finest piece of clothing he had ever seen. From the long white layers of the gown, to the armoured corset that held her breasts just so, framing her muscles of her belly with yet more white and gold paint glowing on it. He could see that the paint went under the dress and he dearly wanted to see how far.

He unceremoniously dropped Margaery's hand and pushed his way through the crowd. As he got closer he could see how her crown set light into her hair, like flames.

Herian was trying very very hard not to panic, she couldn't see Ned when she came in. She took a few steps down and glanced up when a grunt sounded Ned pushing the last Lord out of the way. He swept up to her, she only just remembered to meet him halfway, their hands meeting and clasping tight.

Suddenly Ned was there, protecting her from all the eyes and some of the panic drained away.

The musicians had enough sense to start playing again, Ned lead Herian down to the floor hand in hand. Pairs moved out of there way, as Ned guided her down.

The piece was one she knew, and had words though the musicians did not sing them. Maybe Luwin was onto something about the Household liking her.

Ned whistled in tune with the music, and softly asked. "Will you sing with me?"

Herian gave a nod and they parted, the northern lords and ladies had shoved their way to the front forming a circle around the pair when they had recognised the tune.

Ned softly started to sing, Sansa had taught him this one, he had already asked once today but it couldn't hurt to ask again.:

" _I'll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne'er a fear of drowning._

 _And gladly ride the waves of life, if you will marry me."_

The musicians started to play again softly.

" _No scorching sun, nor freezing cold._

 _Will stop me on my journey._

 _If you will promise me your heart._

 _And love…"_

Ned stopped and watched Herian she drew a deep shaking breath, and sung out softly beautifully.

" _... And love me for eternity."_

Breaths were sucked in sharply, outside of the Sansa, Ayra and Jon, no one had heard her sing before. Herian drew in another shaken breath and stepped towards Ned, he followed step for step.

The look of soft joy on his face rarely ever seen by anyone, even Catylen.

" _My dearest one, my darling dear,_

 _your mighty words astound me."_

She raised her arm up at up at a right angle and met Neds and the forearm. They started to walk in a slow circle changing directions with each line.

" _But I've no need of mighty deeds_

 _when I feel your arms around me."_

Herian was getting into this, her joy started to bleed through into her words and the tremor in her voice disappeared.

Eddard sang out next, in rare moment of delight, the musicians striking up the tune. With the next two lines they turned to face each other and stepped to and fro with each other. Then he knelt and guiding her around him, she made the tiniest dancing hope over his leg.

" _But I would bring you rings of gold,_

 _I'd even sing you poetry!_

 _And I would keep you from all harm_

 _if you would stay beside me!"_

Again they stepped together, hands clasped together. Once one side of his chest, then to the other, he spun her around in his arms and took up her hands again. Herian sang out through this.

" _I have no use for rings of gold,_

 _I care not for your poetry._

 _I only want your hand to hold…"_

The musicians picked up speed and life as drummers joining in as Herian sang.

" _I only want you near me!"_

Ned spun her around again face him and they spun around hands clasped the singing out together picking up speed.

" _To love and kiss, to sweetly hold!_

 _For the dancing and the dreaming!_

 _Through all life's sorrows and delights,_

 _I'll keep your love inside me!_

 _I'll swim and sail on savage seas_

 _with ne'er a fear of drowning!_

 _And gladly ride the waves of life_

 _If you will marry me!"_

Ned picked up her by the waist and lifted her high into the air, for a moment before drawing her in and kissing her lips soundly.

The household of Winterfell clapped loudly when the song was done, only the barest skeleton crew had remained in the kitchens when the two runners told them that Herian was all dressed up like a Queen. This prompted the Northern Lords to clap and while none of the southerns joined in and a few of ladies gave up hope of catching the King of Winter. The peoples in favour of the pair were vastly outnumbered they ones not.

Both Ned and Herian blushed, and Ned waved for the musicians to play something else as they started another group dance. Pairs formed up around them and they danced in the centre of it all.

Within two more songs Herian was smiling and laughing with eyes only for her king. Eddard found that his heart rose with Herians, their inherent shyness took flight as they danced for each other and no one else.

Margaery ended up dancing with Robb or Jon, both teens swapping to dance with one of the many Mormonts.

The musicians eased off when the servants started to bring dinner in.

Herian and Ned were the first to take to their seats as was traditions.

Sansa hummed quietly under her breath knowing just a bit more of the story. As Jon took her arm to lead her up to the table. "Tale as old as time. True as it can be. Barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly."

Jon smiled at her little song, completely agreeing with her. They watched Ned pull out Herians chair take her hand again as she sat, before taking his own.

Robb sat next with Margaery, then Jon and Sansa took their places after the Starks were seated they rest followed quickly.

There was no great toast, people settled into their food quickly. Robert even came out of the woodwork and after exchanging a few words with his younger brother, they parted ways.

He took the place that was normally given to one of the household and smiled at his old friend.

Eddard smiled at Robert, the man had been hiding since his brother arrived.

Robert to a long drink and said. "Didn't know you could sing Ned."

"Just that once." Ned said with a smile taking a sip of his mead.

"You're good at it."

"Sansa." Ned said in explanation.

"Ah." Robert said, he looked over at Herain who was sitting stiff as a board sipping delicately from a goblet. "Where'd the woman that roared at me go?"

Herian coughed her drink going down the wrong pipe and cleared her throat, blush rising to her cheeks.

Eddard smirked at her. "Oh she is in there."

The elf mock glared at him. "I will have you know, she is trying very hard to blend in." She raised her chin just so, fighting a smirk but the twitching of her lips gave her away.

"She's not going a very good job." Ned said in jest.

That broke Herian and she quietly laughed.

Now Robert was floored, Ned wasn't the only one acting strange the terrifying Witcher was laughing and smiling too! The seven hells has just frozen over as far as Robert was concerned. He stared at the pair in wonder for a long moment then let a booming laugh. "You'll make a good wife to Ned yet. That frozen northern heart needs a bit more laughter in it." The mans gut has severely diminished in his time at Winterfell, his laugh didn't send his gut a wobbling anymore.

Herian glanced over to the main stage. "The musicians are good tonight."

"Not even Abel holds a candle to you." Ned said.

Herian blushed. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Given the colour of your cheeks I disagree." Ned said smoothly.

Robert watched the banter with a smile. "You should sing again."

The elf shook her head. "No, I am so out of practice."

"You didn't sound out of practice before." Robert said.

"I just have good lungs." She said.

"I'll say, I could hear you halfway back to Winterfell when you and Ned were having your fun under the Weirwood." Robert said with a grin.

It was Neds turn to choke on his food. "Halfway?"

"Don't sound so surprised, I haven't met a small foke in the last month that hasn't known about you two. For how sneaky you two were trying to be, everyone knows when you deflowered your lady." Robert was enjoying their mortified looks far too much.

"Ploughing hells." Herian muttered colour flushing her cheeks.

Eddard leaned over and kissed her cheek, she rewarded him with a smile. Her embarrassment fading slightly. "Could be worse." Herian said with a shrug.

Her King raised a brow.

"Harry lost his virginity atop of Tel Narra, no one in Blacklight missed him. Many a young mage was traumatized." She chuckled at the thought.

"Tel Narra?" Eddard had a feeling.

"It translates to Tower Narra, there like castles for Telvanni." The elf explained.

"He fucked atop a tower?" Robert said raising his brow.

"Hanging over the edge, there are most definitely perks to flying rings." Herian smiled cheekily watching the thoughts fly through the mens heads.

Eddards mind took a flying leap for the gutter at all the things one could do with airborne sex.

He was only snapped out of it when Robert clapped in on the shoulder with a booming laugh. "Never took you for a creative one Ned."

Ned's mind flashed back to the letter Harimand gotten him to read, Robert truly had NO idea. Rather than commenting Ned flashed Robert the most shit disturbing grin he had.

The former Kings' heart near stopped at the look Ned had. "We will be talking." He said with finality.

"Want to compare notes?" Ned asked.

"Yes." Robert said with complete seriousness.

"Boys last I checked there were those under the age of ten and six at this table." Herian said.

"Right." Robert said.

Down the table Robb asked Lady Margaery. "What is it like in the south? I have never been."

Margaery smiled sweetly at him. "We have field upon field of golden wheats, everything is much livelier and brighter, even the sun."

Robb was entranced as much by her description as herself. "It sounds very nice."

"Mayhap your King Father will allow you to visit someday." Margaery said.

Robb quickly became rather uneasy, he had never left the north. "Father what do you think?"

Eddard turned his attention to the pair. "You should see more of the world, your name day comes next month and Jons after that. Herian, do you think you would be up to escorting them down to Highgarden? You mentioned wishing to explore more."

The elf thought on it for a moment. Escorting was not what she had in mind, however it would be convenient. "That would be doable." She said, cutting up a piece of steak.

Robb and Jon lite up, neither had expected it to be that easy.

Margaery smiled, though she did not like the elf. "Then you shall have to come visit in two months time, I would love to show you both the gardens."

"I'd love to see them." Robb said.

Jon taking after his father was silent but he gave her a shy smile.

The meal progressed and Ned kept a close eye on Herian, he on more than one occasion filled her plate again when she didn't. Though she ate all that he put before her, though it was with a slow polite way rather than her usually swift consumption. Aside from him, his children and Robert she did not get involved in any conversations and only when they included her. The elf seemed very careful in everything she did, and very aware that anyone could look up and see her.

Ned pursed his lips, she almost seemed afraid and he could see how very tense the elf was. Softly he asked. "Are you alright?"

Herian nodded and took a sip of her mead.

"You look pale." Again the words were so soft only she could hear them.

The Witcheress gut flip flopped, so many eyes. "I'm fine."

"You can leave if you wish." He offered.

She shook her head slightly.

"As you wish." Ned took a sip of his wine.

The elf smiled at his choice of words. "There are just so many of them."

"Half will be gone tomorrow." Ned said.

"A small blessing." Herian said.

Ned gave a small smile. "Agreed."

"After that Robb and Jons' namedays, then yours two months after?" She asked.

"Yes, Robb and Jon will be small affairs, for mine I will invite the northern tribes, the numbers will be nothing like this." Eddard said.

Herian set her silverware down, and tucked her hands under the table to kneed them nervously. "Perhaps I should practice at this."

Eddard set his cup down and took her left hand in his right. "You don't have to do anything."

"But I liked to sing with you, and the dancing." She brew a shallow breath. "I." The words got stuck in her throat.

"There is no need to rush into anything, since you came no lady had come within four steps of me. Thanks to the household they gave us the opportunity to make our positions very clear." Ned tried to quell the growing panic in her.

Remembering Luwins words Herian smiled. "I think I would like to thank them."

"I agree." Ned said.

Done the table far from the Starks Stannis, his wife, child and Melisandre, the Red Lady watched the Stark family. She hadn't expected Herian to reappear as herself. Though having all the Ladies trying their charms on Ned would push may a womans buttons. She looked uncomfortable, picking at her food and speaking quietly with the new king.

The elf felt like a beacon of magic, with only the King being stronger. Though her magic was rawer, wild and strong she could feel another magic in the womans dress. It was practically hostile however Melisandre recognized it as the same of the Goddess that appeared before them. She could only wonder what was woven in the garb. While other were distracted she pricked her finger and let a drop of blood fall into the candle before her.

When her spell took hold she could see the magic within a person. Jon was a grey frost in the shape of a wolf in her vision, she turned her gaze to King Stark and his lover. First she looked to Herian, she was both dragon and wolf she blazed gold and gave off fire, heat and a flicker of ash. Unlike the calm of Jon her power leaked out of her, brushed Neds own magic.

He was a white wolf, a pelt as white as snow his magic filled every fiber of his being but did not leak as Herian's did, it was old and controlled but new in the wolf. She sensed that the King would have to learn control and swiftly. Though all this what was the most interesting was that over the course of the dinner, Neds new gift reached out to Herian.

When they leaned together there aura's fire and ice meshed, and settled. Only to grow again unsettled when they moved away from each other. She watched this process over and over, it was interesting really. Herians magic took little bits on Ned and drew them deeper into her, however the Neds magic seemed quite pleased with this process.

Sometimes when they were just close not even talking, the magics would meld and Herian would grow flushed, then Neds attention would be drawn back to her. Melisandre studied the two of them, just what was going on there? It didn't appear to be anything they had control over.

Just that moment Ned leaned over and kissed her, both magics flared but again it was Neds flowing into her. She saw it move into her but it not to her chest no lower, under the table, the magics entwined there. Melisandre's eyes widened, was she with child? That would explain much of what she was seeing, she knew nothing of how the elves breed. Maybe there was something of magic involved, that would explain why Neds aura was so happy to support Herian. Though that did not explain why she was so flushed and so often, she needed more information to look into her fires.

Herian remained for another half hour, talking when spoken too, she felt hot and sweaty. She leaned over and spoke softly to Ned. "I am going to retire."

Ned looked over to her and nodded, rising to help her from her seat as was proper and she retired. He escorted her into the back halls before he spoke. "I need to talk to Jon, then I will come to bed."

The elf raised a brow. "Does this involve his blood?"

Ned nodded. "He is finally a Stark, I feel it is time to tell him who his mother is."

Herian caught that. "Is, not was."

Eddard smiled. "I will tell you when I come to bed."

She nodded and they shared a kiss, before she slipped away into the halls. Eddard returned to his place, one by one his family retired, in the end Eddard and Jon departed together as some of remainder of the northerns partied till dawn.

"Father?" Jon asked as the elder Stark pulled him into the crypts. Ned did not speak, deeper and deeper they went till they came to the cave in.

King Stark hadn't had time to have the mason works to start learning the rubble. He reached out and summoned some of his new power, ice flowed from him into the stones. When they were completely frozen, he turned his hand into a fist and punched forward.

The rubbled shot back like a giant had hit them, the pair could hear them tumble back farther back into the cave.

The inkly black sent chills into Jons heart, whispers reached his ears.

" _Who disturbs the dead?"_

The voices were quiet and weak, Jon looked over to his father. He too was looking deeper into the crypts, what he was thinking Jon could not know.

Ned raised his torch and stepped deeper into the crypts, and lite one of the empty coffins.

King Stark knelt and dusted off the nameplate and stepped aside so Jon could see.

Jon stepped over and pressed his fingers to his name, the stone was cold leaching away the warmth of his fingers. He read out. "Jon Stark, Son of Eddard Stark and…" he bit his lips reading his mothers name over and over. "Ashara Dayne."

Jon took an unsteady step back sat with a flop on a piece of cold rubble. "My mother." He looked up to his father with wonder in his eyes.

Eddard sat across from him speaking with rare fondness. "Is a wonderful woman."

"Is? She's alive?" Jon asked hope swelling in his chest.

"As far as I know, I have not spoken to her since your birth." Ned said. "I don't know where she is."

While disappointed at this, was a conversations that he had always wanted to have. "How?" He wove his hands together trying to calm himself. "How did I come to be?"

Ned smiled at him. "There was a tourney at Harrendal, there I met your mother though," he chuckled. "I was to shy to speak to her. I asked Brandon to ask her to dance with me. We fell in love, as you know not long after that tourney the Rebellion started and I had to marry Catylen. I only saw her once more, after Lyanna died." Sorrow filled his voice.

Jon thought about this, it was simpler then he thought it would be. "What happened after that?"

"I took your cousin with me to Dorne, Lyanna asked me to find a way to keep her child safe. Her child looked very… Targaryen not unlike the Daynes, I gave her to Ashara and took you from her. You would be safe with me, and your cousin with her. We arranged for Ashara to slip from her house." Ned explained.

"What was my mother like?" Jon asked.

"Very kind, she was a lady-in-waiting to Princess Elia Martell when I met her. She was tall only slightly more so than Herian with long dark hair and violet eyes." He smiled at the ghost of the memory.

Jon tried to imagine his mother but he had never seen a Dayne, but this only reinforced his wish to travel south again. He was trying to figure out what else to ask, so long he had dreamed of this mother. "I don't know what to ask."

That drew a smile from his stoney farther. "Think on it, as Herian would say. Ask and I will answer."

They both stood and left the crypts, at their mouth Jon spoke up again. "Thank you father."

"It was high time you were told." Eddard said, he raised his arms offering Jon a hug.

Jon all but leaped into his fathers arms, his father had really shown him affection while Catylen had been alive. There had been small moments, smiles, half hugs, but never such a clear offer before. The young boy finally felt at home in the embrace of his father. Jon eventually drew away, smiling broadly tears only just pricking his eyes.

"Get to bed, tomorrow will be busy." Ned said.

"Yes father." Jon all but ran to bed, so happy he couldn't contain it.

After watching Jon depart Ned returned to his lady, he found her in her room undressed her dress and crown tucked away. Though she still had her paint, she was standing before her hearth. Watching the flames.

Ned pulled his cloak off and set it over a chair behind her.

Herian turned to him, she looked better he thought clearly all the food she had ate was quickly helping her. The elf smiled reached out and started to undo the ties of his shirt. "How it go?"

"Very well." He pulled his tunic off and kicked off his boots. He reached out and ran a hand up her back, she was warm, soft and smooth.

"Good." She touched one of many scars on his chest, traced it down to the thin hairs of his chest then down to the line of his breeches. She teased him, slowly pulling the strings and giving him a 'come and get me' smile.

Ned did, he leaned down and kissed her much less chastity then he had in the hall, his hands came to her butt and lifted her up and carried her to their bed. His breeches were quickly discarded, and they ended up in the middle of the bed. There kisses were long and deep, Ned wasted no time finding his place between her legs.

Herian drew a leg down and flipped them, spreading them again and broke their kiss and kissed his throat, small things at first developing slowly into small bites. A hand slipped between them and she cupped his balls, rolling them carefully in her pulling the skin down gently.

Biting back a groan he grabbed Herian by the shoulders and flipped them again. "Tease." He growled in her ear and bit down on her neck just how she liked.

She writhed under him, her hips bucking under him, she quickly grew flushed again, her sex slick.

Ned couldn't help but marvel how she responded to one simple bite. He had half a mind to flip her over again, that had been very rememberable, the wolf in him rose and agreed with wholeheartedly. He released her neck and interesting Herian turned over for him, raising her hips for him.

He pressed a kiss to her spine as he stretched her sex with one finger then another, felt her tremor underneath him.

Herian grabbed the sheets with both hands and moaned, only just managing. "Now who is teasing?"

Ned smirked and removed his fingers trailing them along the back of her hip, leaving a wet trail of her juices. Kissing her shoulders, "Watching you respond his half the fun." He grabbed her hip and sheathed himself in one smooth slow stroke.

She moaned and pushed back against him, her cunt welcoming him inside.

Ned braced himself against the sheets with a forearm slowly thrusting into her, tucking his face into her neck inhaling her scent. In the back of his mind he thought she smelled different, stronger. The wolf growing inside him purred at her scent, feeling her own wolf, though both parties were too wrapped up in each other to notice.

Ned drew back pulling her up and back with him, she let out a sharp cry when both of his hands came to her hips and pulling her sharply to his thrusts. He studied the paint on her back, each line came to fine points just on either side of her spine, three white dots spaced evenly apart above them.

Herian shifted her legs bracing herself, so he didn't have to hold her.

Eddard traced the paint with a finger, memorizing their paths, listening to her high cries turn into quiet purrs. He cocked his head to the side, eyes growing soft with a white icen shine just underneath their grey. Stroking back down to her hip, he leaned back down kissing her neck again, biting down again gently.

The elf moaned and rocked back against him, a plea for more. The bite sending her closer to the edge, he felt heavy inside of her their positions hitting the perfect places.

He picked up his pace again steady and consistent, pounding into her, he shut his eyes focusing on the feeling. The wet tight heat wrapped around his cock, the slight contractions that signaled that she was drawing close. The smooth skin of her back, the softness of her hair, the blissful scent she was giving off.

Herian came with a high cry, her cunt tightening around him pushing back against him.

Ned helded her tight to him, releasing his seed deep into her, pleasure removing all thought from his mind. His breath deep against her neck, as he tried to recover, after a moment he withdrew.

Herian flopped to the side, Ned laid down beside her on his side facing her. She slide into his embrace again and they kissed long and slow, she hooked a leg over his hips and drew herself to him.

Words weren't needed.

 ***prepares umbrella for flying veg.* Jon has no Targaryen features, none, vip nada zilch and we know Targaryen (Valrians) blood is a 'dominate gene' it even shows up in the daynes and those far removed from the Targaryens. Any child of a Targaryen would have SOMETHING, Jon has no physical features, no dragon dreams or dreams of fire. NOTHING. In the books he is described VERY often as a near carbon copy of a young Ned. In the show sure fine, but they are really simplifying things they COMPLETELY messed up Dorne for example. I think this rather meh, and Martin is very well known for turning tropes on there head, it seems unlikely it would be this simple. He has put way to much time into Ashara, dorne and the Daynes for them to not have more of a impact. I mean there is that whole mess with Lightbringer being the sword of the Azor Ahai. Dawn the sword of house Dayne has all the properties of Valryian steel but is not Valryain steel. I mean what is the ultimate bringer of light, to the end of night, dawn. And Dawn the sword can only be used by a Dayne. Long story short, I think this theory is way more interesting and will be using it. Whether it is right or wrong doesn't matter, its cool and interesting and for the books, nothing is known or set in stone. I could end up being right, only time will tell. I have half a mind to change the location for this story from GoT to the AsoFaI, if people care.**

 **Thank you BrutusPrimus, ThelonewolfNT, Darkblight and Aes21 for your reviews, all six for two chapters.**


	30. Chapter 30

Peace and Quiet

Dawn was just cresting the horizon when Ned woke, the room was growing cold but he was warm. He gently hugged his bed partner, who was snugged up tight to him, her face tucked into his chest. There was a barely audible purr coming from her, the arm she had around his middle tighten in reflex. He smiled she looked very content and he loathed to wake her, she had been in a rare form of frisky last night and needed her sleep.

His eyes drifted back closed today, today his house would finally be emptied of all its 'guests' he could sort out the stores and finally return his attention to his family. Fall was closing in on them and there was much to do. Ned's hand drifted up and down Herian's back.

The elf stirred and mumbled. "Tired, goes backs to sleep." She pressed a sleepy kiss to his chest.

"I thought you witchers were used to being up at dawn." Ned said softly.

"Out of practices." She mumbled. "And," Herian yawned. "Khen." She burrowed back under the furs.

Ned chuckled, drawing them back up to her ears. "Khen, warm?"

A sleepy mumble of a confirmation.

"Alright." Ned drifted back off warm and comfy.

* * *

When next they woke the servants were knocking on the door. Ned extracted himself from the sleeping elf, dressed himself in one of the housecoats that lived in her room and let them in.

"My King." One whispered upon seeing the sleeping lady, bowed and gestured to his companions to bring the tub in.

"Morning." He said softly and walked back over to the bed, and started stroking from Herian from her temple to behind her ear.

The servants filled the tub and started a roaring fire in the hearth. When they were done and departed, he gave her a gentle shake of the shoulder. "Come on wake up. Its nice and warm now."

More rested now. "Fine." She mumbled, rolled over and stood up beside him. The elf wobbled and pressed a hand to her stomach.

Ned caught her. "Sore?"

"Just a little." Herian said giving him a sleepy smile, together they made their way over to the large wooden bathtub. She eyed the steamy water. "I wonder why they don't just leave it here, would that not be easier?"

"It is not the custom." Ned explained.

"You people have strange customs." She let Ned hold her hand as she stepped into it, it was easily large enough for the both of them.

Ned discarded his house coat and stepped in opposite to her, when he sat the water raised a few centimeters. "I am sure if I were to visit your homeland I would be saying the same things."

"Probably." Herian half stepped half swam over into his lap.

Neds hands found themselves over her lower back and hips, he bent down slightly and they shared slow kiss. Breaking it he rested his forehead against hers, speaking softly. "Finally everyone will go and we'll have some peace and quiet."

The water lapped around them as Herian rested her hands on his shoulders. "That will be nice."

Ned smiled and they shared a breath, steam curling around them.

"Do you want me to accompany you today?" Herian asked, flicking her fingers in a very small telekinesis spell calling the washcloth and soap to her hand. She pulled away, got the cloth wet and rubbed the soap into before, using the spell again to return it to its place.

"Do you want too?" Ned asked, thinking that he needed to learn that one.

Herian started washing around his neck and chest, strangely she found the action very calming. "I think so, I've slacked off long enough about learning how your world works. It wouldn't be that different from what I was doing before, be seen, be silent and learn."

He leaned his head back so she could do under his chin, after she moved on he said. "You don't have to be silent."

The elf scrubbed for a moment moving down his left arm. "I supposes, I'd just rather learn for a bit."

Eddard thought on this problem for a few minutes, while she moved to his other arm. Despite her attempts everything had always been busy in one way or another and she had rather gaping holes in her knowledge of the realm. "You could sit in on Bran and Ayra's lessons. Luwin teaches them both of the houses of the realm and their histories."

She gave him the cloth and moved away so he could wash the rest of himself.

"I suppose." She admired him rather openly.

Ned caught her and smirked, silly woman, he sank but into the tub rinsed the cloth the applied new soap to it. Reaching out he pulled her back into his lap and started on the same paths she had travelled.

Herian purred, kneeling in his lap, the cloth was just a bit scratchy but still pleasant.

Ned loved bathing her, it was something to simply watch her in the day. It was a whole other to trace the curves of her skin, to see the muscle underneath, to touch and reveal in the softness of her. He finished with her arms, and she turned so he could do her back. After he washed it, he set the cloth over the edge of the tub and traced the thin white scars that criss crossed over her back. From when the Wendigo threw her into a tree, Herian purred at his light touches.

She turned back around and into his lap, reaching up to kiss him, her hands weaving into his hair.

While she was otherwise distracted, Ned gently brushed her nipples with his thumbs. Herian moaned softly into their kiss and lifted her chest slightly to press her breasts into his hands.

Ned cupped them his light brushes turning into circular teasing pressing just slightly harder. One of many things he had learned from his reading and rereadings of Harminad letter was about the cultures Herian came from. Sex was more about an expression of emotion then it was about reproduction. Kisses were because they wanted to kiss, not as a formality as it was with whores that was if they did it at all, or a coxing into bed.

One thing he liked a great deal about his elf, was that she was honest with her wants. No ulterior motive other than wanting him between her legs. Which was not something he was ever going to complain about.

He slide his hands round to her backside, broke their kiss and lifted her up so he shower affection on her breasts. Herian moaned when he sucked on a perky nipple, while kneading her tight arse. Her hands ended up splayed over his upper back by his neck.

Ned shifted his attention to the other breasts and was rewarded with a pleased cry. Her hands moved back into his hair, weaving through his coarse near black mane lightened by the hearth fire.

Eddard shifted his hand and gently teased her clit, washing away the evidence of the night's activities, while slowly winding her up.

"Ned." Herian keaned.

He nipped gently at the nipple he had been worshipping and added another finger to his teasing. Carefully he spread her on the two fingers being mindful to pressed them against her front wall.

His elf near jumped out of his arms when he found the spot he was looking for. Ned smirked and rubbed over it again and again.

Herian was torn between arching up into his mouth and desperately wanting more of his fingers. She cried out softly in pleasure with every press of his fingers against her aroused swollen flesh.

Ned released her nipple to kiss and nip the soft mounds of flesh.

The elf let go of his hair before she pulled to hard on it, grabbing his shoulders instead. "Please~" she mewed.

Ned removed his fingers and lifted her out of the tub, set her on the side and sheathed himself in one move.

Herian moaned and bit his neck, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He slide a hand around the small of her knee to keep her stable, he kept his movements slow and small. While it didn't do much for him, by the music Herian was making she was enjoying it.

She was struggling to keep air in her lungs, while he did not have his usual force it was most definitely lovely. The elf moved to grab his upper arms and leaned back carefully to give him more room.

Ned took what she offered and ran with it, lengthening his moments and throwing a bit more force behind them. Shifting a hand to hold her butt in place, he peeled his eyes away from her bouncing breasts.

As if she felt his gaze she force her eyes open to look into the soft grey ones watching her. A small smile graced her lips it was just about as much as she could manage was her brain was turned into a puddle long ago.

Ned was absorbed by her, watching her writhe on his cock might very well come his favourite thing to do. Her eye held a rare softness to their red there was none of her careful control, just enjoyment. "Wrap your legs tighter." He said his voice gone rough.

Herian nodded and Ned moved his hands so both were on her hips, picked her up, stepped of the tub and moved them before the hearth. Herian held on as he set her down and when he was settled she smirked, let go of his waist and drew her legs up.

Catching the hint, he threw her legs over his shoulder grabbed her hips then fucked hard and fast.

Herian braced her hands against the warmed bear pelt, so he didn't plough her off it.

Ned loved watching her, her eyes could close as she cried out with his every thrust but then as if she remembered something she would open them and look into his. Something about it made his heart swell, he could feel her muscles flutter around his cock and wanted to kiss her.

He raising a hand he partly grew one of her legs away from his, shoulder, Herian caught on and moved them to the ground then much to his surprise grabbed on of his arms and pulled him forward.

Resuming his pace she kissed him with fervour, first just lips moist and warm then deeper. Her raised her legs to just rest of his hips, her arms came up to hold him too her.

Ned deepened the kiss sliding his tongue over hers and she came with a cry that he devoured. He let a small moan and followed her over, holding his hips flush to her, just to be still and enjoy her for a few minutes longer.

When he grew back she followed him, drawing him back into a kiss, a hand moved to his face and started to stroke his cheek with the back of her fingers.

Ned decided he love her eyes, sure he had gotten used to the red but right now there was a softness to them. Now he could see they weren't a solid red, where his was white the red was softer whiter, her irises had little flecks of gold running through them and not her wolfs gold. When relaxed there shape was more open and elegant. The Stark dipped his head and softly kissed his lady again. "I love you." He whispered.

He loved her when she smiled, or was angry, tired or afraid, the moments when she was insecure that opened her up to him. The moments that made her human, just like him, she just as flawed as the next person but it is for a person flaws that we love them. The good points of a person are just that, good points the things we like about them but if you can not love the flaws, then you do not love the person. Ned had a feeling that he had so much more to see about her.

Growth and love walked hand in hand, without one there can not be the other. As he rolled to the side she followed, hand moving from his cheek to his chest just petting. He returned the gesture though it was over her thigh, they just touched for a long while, exploring feeling enjoying each other. They made love again, slowly and unhurried just feeling, only when that sun start to truely illuminate the room did they get up and get ready for the day.

They ended up skipping breakfast as Stannis was already near ready to leave, as he like his brother preferred to get an early start to the day. The Stark family bid the royal party farewell, Eddard watched Robb giving Margaery a blue winter rose before she got into her carriage.

All in all the emptying of Winterfell turned out to be much less dramatic, day by day families left. Herian could either be found with Eddard or Luwin, sometimes one of the Stark children would be with her. She and Jon ended up practicing magic together in the courtyard together, she started to teach him basic magics, healing, simple illusion spells like Candlelight. Ned eventually found mansions to go into the crypts and clear the remaining rubble.

Herian and Jon ended up helping with that, their enhanced strength making the work go much quicker it also helped that the whispers of the crypts grew steadily louder the longer they worked. The mansioners wanted to be out of there as quickly as possible.

One waxing moons night, Eddard, Jon and Herian the latter two dressed in their armour Herian with her silver blade out and Jon at the ready with his Ice blade. Ned dressed as normally but carried Ice, just in case.

Deeper and deeper they went, till the Lords gave way to the Kings in the North, past the empty tomb that would be Jons and deeper still till they walked among the Kings of Winter.

" _Who dares disturb our rest?"_

A hollow voice resonated around them, Ned drew Ice and readied the blade walking cautiously forward. Herian and Jon flanked him a few steps behind drawing their own weapons. One blade glowed blue with frost the other silver gleaming with rune words.

"I haven't done this in a while." Herian muttered under her breath eyes sharp and seeking.

Deeper they went and the voice drew louder.

" _Who dares disturb our rest?"_

Jon summoned a candle light when a gust of hot wind from deep in the blew their torches out. Deeper and deeper, the halls diverged and grew into many paths, Jon stepped to the side of one of these passages, runes in the Old Tongue lined it from ground to arch to ground again.

"Father can you read these?" Jon asked, he recognized a few from passage that his father had shown him when the magic turned strange.

Eddard approached and scanned the runes, at first thought he was going to say no but the more he looked the more sense they made. He spoke solemnly.

"The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead. And the Dead keep it. The way is shut. Until the time comes." The words felt wrong and twisted in Neds mouth.

Herian carefully progressed down the path. "It doesn't look very shut to me." Her Witchers medallion jumped and twitched at her throat. She reached out a touched the runes, "though I have a feeling we are not the only ones benefiting from a newal of magic."

"There are other paths." Jon said. "Maybe we should leave this one be."

Eddard shook his head and moved out before them again. "This voice can be heard in swallower parts, we must confront it or who knows what it will grow into."

Fear filled Jon and he looked to Herian, she was staring into the darkness sword ready. There would be no rescue there, Jon renewed his candle light spell and they pressed on, down, deeper and deeper, the air grew hot and arid. Tomb upon Tomb lined there way thousands upon thousands upon thousands of Stark Kings, even a few Grey Starks.

"Brandon the Build can't have made all this." Jon said, glancing from one statue to the next, their iron swords long since turn to rust, the stone direwolves at their feet looked hungry.

"Jon I rather doubt most of Winterfell was Brandon the Builder, your history is too long and unknown. Maybe he laid the foundations but there is no way most of this could be done in one human lifetime. Even that aboveground." Herian had been studying and found the lack of written knowledge rather irritating, the stories probably had some truth to them but they were stories so far removed from history.

Jon was about to reply when the temperature dropped and Ned stopped looking in the face of a yet unknown Stark.

It was a ghost, blue and cold rotten in face but still identifiable its hollowed voice spoke again. _"Who dares disturb our rest?"_

Eddard spoke out, raising Ice. "Eddard Stark, King of Winter."

The ghost looked over to Herian, a creature of Fire and Ash. It raised its own Ghostly Ice, another ghost walked out of the wall raising yet another Ice to cleave her in two.

Herian reacted, raising her blade to stop it only to have the spectral blade to pass through her own. Moments before bisection she rolled out of the way, tumbling toward Ned. Eyes's wide and fearful, that had never happened before.

The living Ice clashed with the dead one and the ghost backed away, back into the stone.

The first ghost looked at the two and raised his own blade.

"Back." Eddard barked, Jon and Herian backed off giving Ned the space he needed.

Alone amongst the cold and the rotten, Ned turned and raised his blade. The phantom, the rotten corpse of a once great man floated onward. It had no feet, it's transparent form did not reach that far. From the knees upward, the creature was a shadow of its former self. Literally in this case.

With a rotten jaw, the ghost lurched forward and attempted to cut down the man of the North. It raised its ghostly weapon up and brought its wispy form down through the air.

Throughout the crypt, a loud clang echoed forth.

As lifeless and empty as they were, the spirit's eyes widened. Halfway through the air, the sword stopped. The phantom's blade was met with a metal crack and stopped. In the center of the Crypt, Eddard stood with his sword raised. The phantom was better than the living King, it cut and cleaved at him, slipping under his guard though Ned was quick enough to prevent injury. The two blades met with brief clash of sparks. The metal sword, forged in fire collided with a weapon that appeared more of smoke than of steel. Instead of slipping through Ned's defense as others like it had, the blade was frozen in place, held back by the muscled arm of a Northerner.

Before words could escape the creature's mouth, something reached out and pulled it forward. Ned had raised his other arm and grabbed the spirit by the base of its neck. Despite its misty form, the man had no issue with wrapping his fingers around its throat with a sickly crunch. It's skin did not feel like flesh, neither living or dead. What the spirit consisted of was both solid and liquid, fluid but still present enough to touch. It was akin to actually touching air, as hard as that was to imagine.

The Stark pulled the spirit forward and with a huff, looked it dead in the eyes. To most, looking such a creature in the face would have been unnerving, but for Ned? There wasn't even a twitch.

He forced the creature to face him, so close that he could smell the rotten breath upon his flesh. To be sure, he would never be able to complain about Robert's breath again, not after this.

The spirit trembled, "This is...this is not possible!"

"Is it?" Ned spat, "Or have you already forgotten the name I had given you?"

The spirit narrowed its eyes, then threw its head back and let loose a deep cackling echoing laugh.

Ned let him go half tossing the spirit away from him, it floated back before regain its composure. It looked at him with a foul smile. "The Crypts are yours King of Winter." With that he disappeared. "Call on us if you ever need us." The voice echoed around them.

Eddard sheathed Ice and turned to the other two.

"A test?" Jon asked.

"So it would seem." Ned replied.

Herian relaxed marginally raising out of her crouch. "You mentioned caverns?" She wanted to be away from here.

"This way." Then started deeper again, the path diverged several more times but in the end they came out to a massive cavern.

The three were tiny in comparison to it they could probably fit the length of the great hall three times over into it, both in length and height perhaps two in width.

Herian charged up a mage light spell and released it throwing it as far as she could within the hall. Source water trickled down one side of the cavern the rock was smooth carved by lava flows.

"Will it do?" Ned asked, watching her walk deeper into the place.

"Will it do?" Herian continued awaking turning in an effort to see it all, she grinned at him. "It's perfect!" She could already see dozens of things she could do with the space, all she needed was to get a gate up. Conjuring three more lights she peppered the middle of the left wall with them. The wall was smooth if a bit moist, bits of moss lichen clinging to it.

Ned smiled at her obvious excitement, following her into the cavern.

"I never imagined this was under Winterfell." Jon managed a small magelight throwing it straight up into the ceiling.

"Brandon the Builder set this up for something." Ned said. "To bad we will never know."

Herian pulled a piece of paper from her satchel and conjured another candlelight, it floated just above her head.

"What's that?" Jon asked looking over her shoulder, the large piece of parchment was covered in Daedric runes in the shape of an arch with yet more on what would be the floor.

"Gate runes, these will channel the local energies. The offer will have to come from Ned and the opening will have to come from the other side. But if all goes correctly it should be able to remain without further maintenance." Herian knelt on the ground setting the page down to the side next to her.

"The offer?" Ned walked over and looked over the page, the runes unsettled him they were so different from any writings he knew of.

"The rules around this are very specific." Herian pulled out a small hammer and chisel and started chipping away. "Only one native can extend the offer, it must be only an invitation, there must be no compulsion or invasion. That is why Harimand was only able to visit for a day, I am not native my call was not quite right for free travel. Even then this will still keep Daedra and my Grandmother out." Tapp tapp tapp, the stone crumbled away.

"Interesting." Ned said, she had mentioned these rules before but never in much detail. "Where do these rules come from?"

"We call it the Lone Power, we don't really know much about it other then it is above the Daedra and the Aedra. It had power before the Dragon Fires lite and was keeping the Daedra from Nirn. There are allowances to that, but it's more complicated that anything we will be doing. Plus there is the stuff that only happens once and Era as well." The Greymarch and the Bloodmoon being two such events, she wondering if they would have a Bloodmoon hunt, Hircine did have free run of the place, but no followers.

Ned sat beside her to watch her work, for someone who didn't smith she certainly knew what she was doing. "What allowances?"

Jon parked on her other side, studying the paper she was working from, strangely she hadn't taught him any Daedric yet.

"The invasions of Molag Bal and Mehrunes Dagon. Worship works a bit different back home, the more people behind a power and the bigger the events they create, the more power that force has. Molag Bal had a huge following at one point and many souls were given to him, with that he could create World Anchors, he wanted to merge Nirn and Coldharbour together. The Mythic Dawn killed near all the Septims and opened Oblivion gates, this eventually allowed Mehrunes Dagon to walk Nirn. He just wanted to destroy everything as far as we know." These events were stories even to her, she had never see one happen.

The Starks thought that over, the thought of worship giving the higher powers the power to walk among them had huge implications. They both were thankful that their Gods didn't have such strength.

"And the once an Era ones?" Jon asked.

"Well Sheogorath was well, that is complicated. To simplify up till the last Era he underwent a Grey March where he would become Jyggalag and destroy his own realm. But in the last Era he could himself a mortal champion to break that cycle. One that can not be broken is the Bloodmoon prophecy."

"Oh?" Ned asked.

"The legend tells of a time that occurs once in each era, when a demon god will walk the land in the company of his Hounds, creatures of terrible might. He is The Hunter, and his coming is preceded by three signs." Herian said, mimicking a Skaal shaman. "At least that is how it goes from the mouth of a Skaal."

"Skaal?" Jon asked.

"Small group of Nords on Solstheim, they have waxed and waned over the years." Herian thought of their village, they had gathered many Nords recently partly thanks to the Nerevarines' eye on the group. "They believe in the All-Maker, and have useful legends of there own. Like the Bloodmoon prophecy, without them there is no telling how the last Bloodmoon would have gone." She blew on the stone to reveal her work.

"You let Hircine run free in exchange for how to kill the Wendigo." Ned said, starting to grasp what that meant.

"I did."

"Do you think~."

"I have no idea."

* * *

Moradil walked through the halls of King's Landing, he had been collected from Casterly Rock and Cersei had been brought with him. Much to the High elfs' ire, he looked down at the servants and guard, lesser mortals he hated them. He had been summoned by Lord Tywin, while made Lord of the Vale Baelish remained on as Master of Coin and the whole of the small council waited him. Davos Seaworth had been acting Hand in Tywins absence and now remained as advisor and friend to the King.

The Red Lady was also present, walking back and forth behind the table.

"What do you want mortals?" He snarled, the puny humans thought they could order him around.

"For all her dramatics at least Herian was polite." Petyr commented. This was his first time seeing the high elf, the highborn oozed power though differently than Herian.

Herian tried to hide her power, Moradil glorified in it, he would never lower himself to were there human garb and still wore his armour, staff in hand.

Petyr didn't like him.

Moradil smiled cruelly. "From the sounds of it the Dragonborn gave her leash to a mortal, of course she was polite. She has enough sense to try and make said mortal happy." The runes glowed on his staff at his violent thoughts, oh how he hated those of the Dragon blood.

Melisandre spoke up. "You know her then?"

"Every Altmer knows of the Dragonborns, Herian is particularly infamous for her bloody crusade against us. I have not met her, but I know of her and her family ilk." Melisandre was much prettier than Cersei he thought, she had a magic to her.

"What is a Dragonborn?" Stannis asked.

"Mortals born with the blood and soul of a dragon. The posses much of a dragons power as well as the ability to absorb the souls of dragons. Korta can turn the tide of battle with just his voice." Loathing dripped from every word.

"Korta?" Melisandre asked, she had a feeling but wanted to confirm.

"Herian's sire, he is the commander of the Cavalry and paired with the dragon Odahviing." Moradil explained.

Stannis spoke up. "So Herians power is in her voice?"

"She werewolf as well, trained first and foremost Witcher. If you want to kill a Dragonborn rendering them mute is a good way to start." He curled his lips up, his sire had killed Thain but slicing open his throat. A dragonborn that can not shout is nothing.

"Werewolf?" Petyr asked remembering her shift at the Hands Tourney.

"One of many forms of the children of Hircine, they are strong fast and agile, immune to all diseases save those created by another Daedric Prince." Moradil wasn't the explaining type.

"Interesting." Muttered Melisandre.

"Why do you care?" Moradil asked, he hated not knowing what was going on. Just want had Herian done?"

Melisandre spoke up. "I believe Herian may be with child, the King of Winters' child. I want to know just want we are dealing with, what would you advise?"

Moradil really didn't care, the best plan regarding any of Nerevars' family was to stay as far away as possible. "Leave them be, if something were to happen to her you would bring her family down on our head. Not even the Greater Laws can stop the Nerevarine when she is enraged. By now I imagine Herian has told her lover much of magic and he would be capable of summoning the new Lorkhan. Even if not, the rest of her family has more than enough power to turn your land to ash, it is well know that Nerevar has shared her words of power with her offspring. Depending how pissed off they are, they would either destroy this place, or devour the souls of your people." As much as he wanted home, keeping this place alive and well was currently in his best interests as the only ones with the power to readily travel between worlds were the Indorils.

Melisandre paled at that, she had never imagined that one person could be so well protected.

Maester Pycelle spoke up. "The fact remains that if Herian is with child and it is indeed King Starks child."

"The North already has benefited from their alliance, if Herian has a son." Petyr said, this did not bode well for his plan.

"The Starks will be the most powerful family in the Realm." Varys said, he really hated magic.

Moradil thought on that, of these humans scared of the mere unlikely shadow of a child. "Leave them be, Dragon blood always seeks domination, you are very lucky you got a lesser one like Herian. Do not agitate the sleeping dragon, if she is with child which is unlikely and you take it from her." He let those words hang in the air.

"If we act soon she shall be known the wiser, there are poisons that are untraceable." Petyr said. "The tears of Lys for example."

Moradil had to admit that would work, he rather doubt it would kill her. Poisons rarely worked well on Witchers and even with her lack of mutations he was sure she would have found a way around that. But a high enough dose might be enough to kill the babe if not the woman herself.

"We would have to draw her south, she is too well protected in Winterfell." Stannis said, he thought to ask Melisandre to create a shadow assassin but that was much to implicating.

"Perhaps another Tourney?" Offered Pycelle.

Petyr scoffed. "They barely attend the last one, it would have to be for one hell of a good reason. After all King Stark is the King of Winter now, it's unlikely that just a tourney will move him from his seat of power." The words were almost mocking.

Now that sounded like the Herian Moradil knew, catching her at parties was like trying to skin a live werewolf.

Melisandre had an idea. "I heard that Robb and Jon were going to visit High Garden for the elder boys birthday, Herian was to serve as escort."

Tywin spoke up. "The Tyrells would never agree to it, they are still trying to forge an alliance."

"We don't have to tell them." Melisandre said.

"All Herian would have to do is ask, it is impossible to lie to a werewolf." Moradil said.

"That explains a few things." Petyr grumbled.

"Are you quite done plotting your own deaths?" Moradil asked, he could think of better things to do.

They glared at him, the high elf turned on his heel and walked out. He didn't care what they thought of him, they couldn't hurt him he was much greater than Herian when it came to magic. No poison could harm him, nor no knife in the dark.

"You handled that well." Cersei stepped out from behind a pillar.

Oh joy her again, Moradil gave her a thin smile, "They're a bunch of idiots."

Cersei laughed high and sweet. "I quite agree. Take a turn in the gardens with me?"

No, Moradil thought but, "Yes." Came from his mouth.

They walked in silence to the gardens, Cersei didn't truly know what to say. She had been working on him for weeks but was no closer to understanding him.

Moradil had not yet been to the gardens, he supposed they were fine for being human made. As a high elf he had some appreciation for the finer things.

"How do you find King's Landing?" Cersei eventually asked.

Boring, stinky, a piece of human made shit? Moradil bite his tongue to keep the words from spilling out, instead. "It is quite fine for a human city."

Cersei smiled not really understanding his words. "Why do you speak so? Mortal human, you often use them to address my kind. Are you not mortal?"

He had to try to not respond to the insult. "I am Altmer, we are greater than your kind we live for centuries and strive for perfection. I have only seen my first century and I am greater then you or ours will ever be. Those fools back there don't even know what they are afraid of."

Cersei's smile faltered, but she long since gotten used to his attitude. "What should they be afraid of?"

"Not what Herian is but what she can do, she is very well connected. She could call on the Calvary, her family, open a gate between our worlds. Melding the lines of Stark and Indoril is not what I would be worried about." He almost shuddered at the thought of the Calvary.

The Lannister woman was silent for a moment. "I don't know how it is in your world, but here family and bloodlines are everything."

Moradil's lip twitched, he knew he had been carefully bred but he was willing to put gold on he knew more about genetics then she did, some information the Nerevar shared freely. "Family is important."

Cerseis' smile returned. "Well at least we can agree on that."

 **I hate this chapter, setting up stuff is such a pain. That said we are moving into a bit of a lull period in the story, I have not forgotten about the White Walkers I am just waiting on them for now. That said is there anything people want to see? I have been putting some thought into our own Tourney of Harrenhall but as of yet haven't figured out how to make it work. There is a rather lot of exploration we could do, but I would appreciate some ideas I am a little tapped out, I have long term plans but need short term stuff. The next few months are rather empty, aside from starting various little things up.**

 **Thank you Carlthompson (Your question will answer itself), BrutusPrimus, Aesir21, Earendil18 and ThelonewolfNT for your reviews, six for one chapter rather then two. Yay!**


	31. Chapter 31

**So I was happy going along flitting from character to character giving there points of view on events, yes even Dany. But I was stuck so I went, what the hell I'll do one for Ned... then that exploded into its own chapter. On the plus side my plot bunny has had babies! Though I will ask I doubt anyone will answer, I have one dragon planned right now will be showing up no if ands or buts. But a way to introduce another one while staying completely within the rules and lore occurred to me. My question is thus, would it be okay to introduce a second dragon? Would having Ned learn Dragon tongue and a low level of Thu'um appeal to people, or would that be pushing it a bit to far? It is completely doable the dragon I already have plans for and Herian could very easily teach him. He will also eventually end up with Lycanthropy (probably), I will not say how but it will be VASTLY different from Jons reasons. This story will not be all sunshine and roses there will be more deaths. Anyway back to the dragons, beyond time constraints there is no real reason for him not to learn the dragon language, but even then we literally have years before the White Walkers start being loud. We have a LOT of time to play in. Enough rambling from me, one with the show the currant semester of university is drawing to a close then I will have much more time for this.**

Meet the Family

Eddard

Ned was exploring the caverns to the chip, chip, chip of Herian's chisel, she was almost done then he would open the gate. He had asked Herian how the caverns had formed, having long since gotten used to her simply knowing more. She said they were likely magma tunnels, and might go on for miles, that the fact that they were sitting on a hotspring likely meant that there was still magma beneath them. She had asked for shapers to come, so he would probably get to see this magma though she said once it broke the surface it was called lava. Why the change of names he didn't know but didn't really see a problem with it so he just went with it.

The ground was very smooth and the air moist and warm, it was almost too hot but with fall well on its way he was not going to complain about the heat. Water trickled down the walls from the permafrost above again, he it found it strange to think that water could find its way down here. He wondered at the underground rivers that fueled the hotsprings and thus Winterfell.

Holding his torch high he walked over to a small pool and looked inside water flowed slowly through it, he guessed it was flowing under his feet as well. In the pool was a small lizard like creature, its skin was almost see through at a very pale white he could see a pinkish colour where its organs were. Herian said it was edible but that it would be better to try and disturb the caves ecology as little as possible. Ecology what a weird word, it meant the relation of creatures to their environment or at least that was what Herian had simplified it down too. Though he had caught her eating a cave centipede after popping its head off and cooking it with a spell.

She had laughed so hard at the face he made that she had to lean against the wall. Then offered him some, he was sure she only did that to see his expression. The Dark Elf then went on to explain that one had to be careful when eating insects as some were poisonous though not many if you knew what to avoid on their bodies and to never try to eat mandibles. As it was far more effort than it was worth, plus you didn't want sharp bits in your stomach.

At his prodding she explained why she was so calm about eating insects, apparently most creatures in morrowind were insect like and that the Dunmer used them from food, armour to housing. Around this time she pointed out a spider larger than his head and said you could even eat it! Needless to say she had taken far too much delight in teaching him about all sorts of things he would never have thought to even try to eat. Not that he was going too until the stores of Winterfell ran dry. Though she shatter his perceptions of what a Kwama was, apparently they were insect like as well so if he wanted to eat meat he would be trying it eventually.

It was going to take some time to prepare a home for the Kwama queen so a group of dark elf caretakers and architectures were going to come through first. Set about making the cave livable though Herian said it already was, then the Kwama queen and several mages would come through.

His Dunmer had been rather surprised at the lack of life on the caverns' ceiling so she had been writing to said mages about setting up another gate, this would one would just let fresh air and sunlight in. Having seen two winters himself he was greatly looking forward to being able to see sunlight during it. Herian had even mentioned offhandedly that with Vvardenfell capable of some supporting life again a shortage of farmers had begun on the mainland. The subtext to that was it might even be possible to arrange some form of emigration for his small foke, to him it meant that fewer would freeze to death or starve over the winter.

They had even discussed calling Rangers over to help Herian and Jon with the growing magic and monsters of the land. Ned had asked her about teaching his own people, and after a mild argument and some evasive answers she admitted she didn't trust the people here. Any Ranger she would call over would both want the job and would be trustworthy. People she knew wouldn't abuse their power or use it for selfish gain, true explorers she called them. Ned knew she thought of herself as one as well and still struggled to resist the call of the Path. It saddened him to know he would have to let her go soon. When she spoke of the Rangers she had such and energy about her, a longing, excitement he could see her wish to explore. He hopped the visit to Highgarden would temper that longing and he would get to have her for a little longer.

Part of him dearly wished for the ability to go with her when she left but he knew that would not be possible, he was the King of Winter and had to remain in the North for his people. He sat beside the pond to watch the meager flow of life through it and looked back down the cave to where his Herian was tapping away at the wall.

He had thought long and hard about why he loved her but struggled to find one thing. She was just so opposite to Catylen but then back in his youth he hadn't wanted to marry Catylen. Neither had Brandon he had been in love with Barbrey Dustin, Ned could almost find it funny. Catylen had loved Brandon but Brandon did not love her, then Ned had come along and she could not find it in her heart to really love him. Ned closed his eyes and rested his head on a knee he had draw up. He could just remember the features of Ashra, the beautiful violet eyes. Brandon, Catylen and himself had all be in love with another forever doomed to love another, while forced into a marriage for alliance.

Ned was determined to save his children from that fate, Sandor and Sansa flicked into his mind and he had to smile. While Sandor was just over a decade older than Sansa, she was an excellent foil to him. Given another four or five years he would not say no if Sandor asked for Sansa's hand, or vise versa one could never know with those two.

Eddard opened his eyes and a smiled played over his lips, Brandon would have greatly enjoyed Herian, Lyanna too. They were wild with their wolfs blood, Herian was wilder than them both. His train of thought paused, maybe that was where his love for the elf started. She was wild, so different from Cat and so like his own family, at least in temperament. Though she was more controlled than Brandon or Lyanna, perhaps that was just practice. From where he sat he could see her scowl at the wall with a pout, growl at it then go back to chipping.

A huge spider like thing with a hard white shell walked past him, it was almost like a crab. He stayed perfectly still when it wanted over his boot and into the water. After it was gone he turned his thoughts back to his elf, his queen someday if he could have his way. Thinking back to Catylen and Herian he wondered what would have happened if Catylen had not been taken from him. How he still have fallen in love with the elf? They spent so much time together even before his late wife's murder. For some reason he could see Catylen getting jealous over the elf, but he couldn't think of anything that would have made him send Herian away.

Though in that situation he could see Herian taking herself away, to spare him the conflict with his wife. He shook his head, no he wouldn't have allowed that. His heart twisted at how messy that would become, Cat would have hated him for that. Even if he hadn't taken Herian to bed, part of him knew what he would have eventually, it would have probably taken him longer, but he would have. They both had enormous amounts of control, it had even taken the Gods intervention to get them to finally give in. The tension would have probably boiled on and on till they both gave in, Gods he could imagine that. Their coupling in the Godswood hadn't exactly been gentle but give more time with no form of release and Cat in the way. Seven hells it would have been something else altogether.

Blood raced south and he had to divert his thoughts, now was not the time. Ned smirked watching the elf, maybe later after he had worked her up. Ned picked up his torch and set off down the cavern again, mostly to distract himself from the lustful thoughts.

Down he went and the cavern narrowed eventually and branched, these new tunnels were only a little taller then him. After standing at this crossroad for a moment he decided against any further exploration the idea of getting lost was wholly unappealing. He set off back and by the time he returned to his elf she was just finishing the last rune.

Herian set her tools down and turned to him with a smile. "Hello. Find anything interesting?"

Eddard loved it when she did that, he had always been a bit awkward, he hadn't earned the title Quiet Wolf for no reason. She would just open the way to a conversation without any hint of awkwardness or effort. Her voice was smooth and he could hear the accent she had put so much effort to overcoming. "Just the lizard thing you showed me before and another white crab spider creature. The tunnel gets much smaller and branches off," he smiled. "I decided against getting lost."

His elf let out at musical little laugh she did when she was trying not to laugh harder. "Good plan."

Gods she was stunning when she laughed, her hair would fall forward and her eyes light up. Sometimes he would swear that her pupils were cat shaped as well but others they looked perfectly human. Ned stepped forward and gather her to his chest with his free arm and dipped his head to kiss her.

It was so adorable, she was always so willing and would rise up to her toes to meet him in the middle. He could feel her hands find their way under his cloak to rest on his tunic, so small against him. His hand held her to him at the small of her back and he lead the kiss, slow and soft, no tongue just a leisurely meeting of lips. When he drew away Herian followed him, her hands moving to his neck and drew him down again just a small peck. That was another thing he loved, one kiss was never enough after each long kiss she would always give him one more like a promise that their would always be more.

She let out a soft quiet purr and rested the side of her head against his chest.

Ned looked at the runes, they were so very different from anything he had seen so far. Though he did recognize a few from her books. "Is it ready?"

Herian nodded, stepped away took his torch. "Whenever you are ready."

Eddard walked to the runes on the floor, knelt and drew his dagger then carefully cut his palm slowly as the blood dripped onto the runes he said very slowly and cautiously.

"Iya ekemdohtrohtdoht sehttayemrohtkoht kohtlyanehtgeth ohthefhed weblyanehttayemroht, ohtpayemekmneht tayemhekemlyaseht gethayemtayem ayemnehtdoht webekemlyrcessohtmehtekem tayemhefhedekem payemekemohtpayemekemseht ohthefhed nehtlyarohtneht tayemoht vehklyasehtlyatayem ayemnehtdoht lyrlyavehkekem yoodtpayemohtneht mehtyoodt webohtlyrdoht. Tayemrohtayemvehkekemlyr hejhedrohtekemlyryoodt tayemhekemlyaseht webohtlyrdoht sehtoht lyrohtnehtgeth ayemseht nehtoht hekemayemrohtmeht ohtroht lyalyr lyanehttayemekemnehttayem lyaseht hekemayemrohtbedtohtrohtekemdoht lyaneht yahkemohtyoodtroht hekemekemayemrohttayem ayemnehtdoht sehtohtyoodtlyr."

He hoped he never had to speak the tongue of the Daedra again, it was a horrible mouth full that required near perfect pronunciation. What he said translated into. 'I Eddard Stark King of Winter, open this gate and welcome the peoples of Nirn to visit and live upon my world. Travel freely this world so long as no harm or ill intent is harboured in your heart and soul.'

The phrasing offered his people as much protection as possible while staying in the rules of such gates.

The runes light the cavern with a white orange light a imagine rippled from the outer ring of the runes inward, it completed with a thrumming boom that vibrated in Neds bones.

As he stood Herain stepped over to him and healed his palm with a tender touch, then looked into the gate with a smile.

Ned guess this other side to this gate was carved into a mountain, before them was a massive golden field he could guess wheat but was probably wrong. Tents were pitched on either side of the gate, dark reds and blues with iron poles. As they looked two dark elves raced over to the gate and started talking rapidly in dunmeri, they were going to fast for him to understand. But Herian replied almost as fast, then stepped away, set the torch down.

His elf turned to him with a soft smile and took of this hands, she stepped away from him, he let her draw him through the gate.

It was the strangest sensation like a mix of hot air and water over his skin at the same time. One moment he was below Winterfell the next… the next he could feel the warm sun on his skin, the wind kicked up and set his hair dancing, the golden field danced with swift waves. He could smell ash on the air, fell one or two pieces fell into his cheeks only for the wind to pick them up again.

Herian let his hands go and he turned before her, trying to see all around. The gate was indeaded carved into a rock face but now he could see it was part of a mountain range. The sun felt pleasantly hot, rather than the almost stuff hot of the caverns.

The mages pretended not to notice him as they stepped through the gate and set to work reinforcing and layering additional magics onto the gate. The ground let out a soft crunch under his boots a mix of dirt and ash.

"Where are we?" He asked turning his attention back to his lover.

"At the foot of the Velothi mountains." Herian said watching him with a smile. "Blacklight is several days north of here and Chani's Stronghold is only a few hours south."

Ned pulled his cloak from his shoulders and folded it over his arm, it was much too hot for it. He looked back to the gate the dunmer were working hard weaving magic before them in the air then laying it on the runes. As he looked for more elves came from tents, staffs or wands in hand and started working on this side of the gate. "Can you ask them to let us know if anyone comes looking for me?" His duties were done and he was starting to get the feeling in his chest that demanded he go exploring.

Herian spoke again in Dunmeri and one of the ashen elves nodded, turning back to him. "They'll send a message." She paused for a moment, Ned watched her bit her lip and wondered what she was thinking, after a moment she asked. "Would you like to visit Chani? She's close and..." Herian trailed off.

Ned could tell she missed her aunt, it was written all over her body language. He still marveled how bombastic and loud she could be one moment, then completely shy the next.

"My duties are done for the day, we have time." He watched her face light up and her ears flick up happily.

Herian grinned. "Okay uh, hmm." She turned and walked up beside her as then moved deeper into the little camp.

Though the camp was not quite so little as he originally thought. The majority of people were dunmer some in strange heavy robes or armours, but there were some lizard people he knew from his reading to be Argonians as well as men that looked like Northmen, expect they were all as tall as him if not more. It was like seeing Gregor Clegane crossed with both Stark and Lannister, even the woman towered tall. Ned asked softly as not to be rude. "What are the tall humans?"

Herian looked up at him and silently giggled, he could see the tremor of her chest. "Nords. They are all like that one way or another, I have never heard of a small Nord. They are like our Northmen, they even possess a rather powerful resistance to cold. The same way I have one to heat and fire."

"And the other peoples are Argonians?"

His elf nodded. "Aye."

Ned noticed a blacksmith, he was hammering some strange carapis. "What's that?" He nodded toward the blacksmith.

"Bonemold, it is made from Alt hide and crushed bones. It makes for a tighter seal against the elements." Though she preferred netch leathers herself.

They ended up walking past the tents of enchanters, spellwrites and alchemists before coming to a stable. Or as much of a stable as a temporary shelter could be. Ned waited as Herian spoke with the stablemaster, then she disappeared inside then after a moment pushing the tent flap out of the way she lead two Guar.

Eddard didn't know what to make of them, they were small compared to his usual mount but given the saddles were clearly meant for riding.

Herian led the bigger of the two too Ned, it's back came up to just under his shoulder. "This is Henty. He is usually a pack guar but the stablemaster didn't want to part with one of his horses. They aren't native to the area and need more care than guar, it's just like riding a horse you just have to keep your weight more centralized and you don't have to rise as much when they run. It's more a swaying motion that you have to be wary of."

Ned took the reins she offered and let the large guar between its' flat nose. Its scales were dry and hard, it made a low hummph sound and stuck out a large flat purple tongue.

Herian laughed and stroked the tongue with the palm of her hand, slipping her other and under it to pet it from both sides. For a moment Ned was distracted by her. He hadn't seen her be so relaxed around a creature before, her ears were forward and her smile soft and caring. He loved those ears, they reflected her mood and made it much easier to figure out what was going through her head.

"He likes you." She said cocking her head to the side and looking up at him.

Ned moved his hand to pet the guars tongue though he only pet the top. "You think so?"

Herian nodded liking her lips, the air was very dry. "Either that or he likes the attention."

Henty made another deep HUMMPH and licked Herian from chin to the top of her head.

"Hey!" She made a face and tried to wipe the saliva from her, then with a giggle and gave Henty's tongue one last pet while cooing. "You definitely love attention!"

Eddard chuckled he would have never imagined that Herian would let herself get slobbered. He watched her blush and smile at him, he occured to him he rarely saw her smile so much.

"Alright that is enough attention for you." She cooed at Henty, then to Ned spoke. "It's just like a horse, I'll stay here just in case."

Ned nodded, returned the reins and stepped around to the Guar's side, then after a moment's contemplation put his foot into the stirrup and heaved himself into the thin saddle. Henty rocked back and forth below him, not unlike a horse but it was still a very strange feeling.

"Good." Herian said walked around and gave him the reins then turned to her own guar and leaped up into the saddle with far more grace than she ever managed for a horse.

She made a clinking noise and her gaur set off at a swift lumbering walk and Henty followed.

Ned quickly figured out that Henty need very little instruction and just focused on learning how to move with the guar.

Slowly they made their way through the golden fields once he figured out how to ride he reached over and snapped a head from the wheat like grasses. A quick look at the grain told him it was not wheat. "What is this?" He asked, holding the grain out to her.

Herian turned and made her guar walk beside Henty, the pack guar didn't like this but put up with it. She glaced at the grain. "Wick Wheat, it's like wheat but only grows in the ashen grazelands it has a bit of an earthier taste and its bread will keep you full for longer."

"Wonder why that is." Ned mused, the grain in his hand didn't look that different.

"Ash grounds are more fertile than normal and while it goes take a bit of skill to make things grow it is well worth the effort." Herian explained.

Ned mused on that and threw the head of grain back into the field. When he turned his gaze back upward, his eyes went wide as he saw the source of the ash.

Red Mountian, also called Ahqo-Strunmah in the dragon tongue but more commonly called Dagoth-Ur stretched up into the sky before him. Bellowing up thick heavy plumes of ash the sky before them drew darker with ash and he was very glad there was a small sea between him and it.

Herian must have been watching him. "Dagoth-Ur, the heart of Vvardenfell named after the False God who lived there. It is from it that we got our resistance to heat, there is a magic in it and over the generations we absorbed some small part of it."

Ned turned his gaze to her, she was looking at the volcano with almost, reverence. He guessed that made sense as it was a very large part of Dunmer culture. "You mentioned that people had taken to living on Vvardenfell again." He couldn't imagine that and he frankly didn't want too.

"Just a small groups two of old Ashlander clans and they are living below ground. There are also some people on the coast but it's a slow recolonization." Herian said, the idea did not appeal to her despite her ancestry.

Eddard nodded not sure what to say to that.

South they travelled, it was mostly grasslands, strange mushroom trees towering above them, strange ferns and blue flowers so heavy they drooped onto the ground. Ned ran a hand through his hair then gave it a shake to dislodge the ash. It was everywhere, he was starting to practice taking shallower breaths to avoid inhaling it. He was sweating under his leathers and tunic, the only reason he didn't pull his gloves off was the protection they offered.

He glanced over to Herian, she was wearing her Witchers gear, but she had unbuckled it around her waist. The wind kicked up sending the ash spiralling, the sun moved behind Dagoth-Ur's ash cloud and everything felt darker if still very warm and arid. He was content to ride in silence, just absorb the land around him, it was a nice change from the slowly freezing north.

Eventually the rounded into another grove the house for Ned had no other way to describe it was seated against the mountain range. Rather than a Telvanni Tower Chani's stronghold was more like a long house. It had a round golden door and the walls were a molded golden brown, everything about it was round one way or another it rose up to a least three levels, with a crowning of three tower like shapes.

Before it was a garden, a well worn path between the two places, stone walls a meter heigh surrounding each, peering over one Ned could see a strange thin leather tucked into the walls. In the gardens there were dozens upon dozens of different plants, the colours were lush and varied from gold, purple, blue and red.

As they approached people stood up from the garden to see who was coming. One a Dunmer man the other Ned recognized was like Herian, so he guessed she must be Chani.

The pair picked up their baskets and made their way from the garden. Herian leaped nibbling from her saddle and half runned to meet the half Khajiit with a hung.

Ned dismounted with significantly less grace and smiled slightly, and clipped his cloak back to his shoulder, as he wanted his hands free. The dunmer male was slightly shorter then him with midnight black hair, black eyes and a hooked nose. He approached slowly, letting Herian enough the moment.

After one last hug Herian let go of Chani and embraced the other dark elf. He smiled warmly and kissed the top of her head.

Drawing anyway and stepping towards Ned, Herian spoke nervously. "Chani, Severus, this is Eddard Stark."

Severus offered his arm and the two men clasped at the forearm and shook once. "A pleasure to meet you." Severus said.

Ned could only describe the other mans voice as silky. "Likewise." Ned responded wondering how the other man could understand him.

Chani lifted her nose and sniffed the air. "Herian will you help me with covering the garden? Severus and Eddard can tend to the other, I smell a storm."

"Sure." Herian said quickly glancing between the three of them.

Ned could tell she was reluctant to leave him, why he wasn't sure, he could handle working on a farm, though he never had.

Chani had to pull Herian away and Ned followed Severus into the neighbouring field.

Severus walked with power, for lack of a better word Ned noticed he could imagine a cloak billowing around the man like a pair of wings. While Ned was a few inches taller, Severus was all leg and knew the grounds well.

They were half way over the field before Severus spoke. "Herian seems to like you, I haven't seen her so nervous before."

Ned licked his lips and contemplated what to say. "It was a long time developing." He settled on, without defining 'it'.

Severus lips quirked.

"Damn caught." Thought Ned.

They approached the far wall, Severus with Ned copying him reached down the the base and pulled the leather sheet up. "Keep it level with and taught between your hands, the magic will do the rest."

The men stood two meters apart and pulled the leather, walking backwards, Ned watched as the leather stretched out with a rippling effect. Again they went several minutes without speaking as neither man was prone to it.

"How has Herian been behaving?" Severus asked, his voice stoney.

What kind of a question was that? This Severus clearing knew a great deal more about Herian then he did. "How do you mean?" Ned asked carefully.

Severus kept an eye on the leather as they pulled and spoke. "Herian is volatile, perhaps wild is a better word, borderline suicidal. Or at least she was when she left here, so how has she been with you?"

Suicidal?! Neds brow shot skyward, how could he have missed that? Quickly he tried to call up their meeting, the conversations that followed. Then it dropped like a stone, the Leshen, she had armour but she ditched it in favour of speed. Armour that could have protected her, she said that it would slow her to much to fight the Leshen, yet she had gone up against a greater monster in it and won. His gut twisted painfully and he pursed his lips, had Jon not found her she would be dead.

Herian said she hadn't been that fond of her mother, yet from what he gathered she had gone a bloody crusade against her mothers' killers of a duration that was measured in years.

Had she been looking for a good death? Why? The rumour was she went up against The Mountian in a fist fight, was that bravado, or something else? She was much more controlled when she sparred with him or Jon, was it because she knew they would stay their hand if they managed to get the upper hand? No, Ned shook his head, Herian could be bold and brash particularly when bored, but suicidal? He hadn't seen any evidence of that.

Ned spoke slowly still thinking. "She has been rather brash at times mostly when left to her own devices and I am rather sure when she is bored. But never suicidal, but she also has improved over time. In the last few months she has almost been calm." Ned wondered how much of that was due to getting her brains fucked out on a regular basis.

Severus nodded, that was good the poor girl had been rather unstable for long time. He and Korta had been planning an intervention when she went missing. Both of them worried about the trouble she could have gotten into unsupervised. He glanced at the taller northman, he was a very calm person maybe he tempered Herian or she cared enough about him to try and improve herself. Either way, anyone who could handle Herian was good in his books. Severus smiled very slightly and let the northman see it.

They pulled the leather across the garden in silence and fastened it to the far wall, Chani and Herian finished their garden about the same time.

Ned noticed a slight dusting in Herian's cheeks, if he had to guess he would guess she had been talked to as well.

The small party set off towards the house and Herian much to Neds shock, slipped her arm through his on reflex he responded the same way if only to mask his shock. While every affectionate behind closed doors, she had never done something so public so casually before. Well not counting the times when she stumbled into his hall either with a hangover or half dead.

Ned took the opportunity to review their surroundings again, the wind was picking up and the ash was growing thicker, the house had a strange wooden walkway leading up to it. Only when they were safely behind the great golden door did Herian let him go.

Eddard observed Chani and Severus share a look then Chani said. "Herian dear, why don't you show Eddard around? Perhaps the music rooms would be a good start."

The King of Winter suppressed a chuckle, Herian went from unsure nibbling on her lip to lighting up and grinning from ear to ear. He wondered if it was the direction that made her smile, she looked nervous like she wasn't sure where to start.

Herian almost shy took his hand and they started down the round jointed halls of the stronghold. That was one thing Eddard quickly noticed everything was round and organic, occasionally the house would groan and humm. It was very strange but Herian's ears didn't even flick at the sounds so he guessed it was normal.

Her hand was arm and small, he could feel the slight differences to her from a human. After meeting Chani and Severus as he started to put together elvish traits. From what he had seen, Dunmer were lean and sharp fine boned and slight. All things he had noticed in Herian but hadn't been sure if they were unique to her or not.

They walked past a solar, library and several rooms with closed doors so he could only guess what lay behind them. Eventually they came to a wood door, split down the middle.

Herian let go of his hand and pushed the doors inward, stepped in and out of the way. Eddard followed her in then she closed the door.

Ned didn't recognize most of the instruments within, but they were that. He saw flutes, lutes, recorders and drums, there was a strange wooden instrument with ivory keys.

He watched Herian gravitate to the strange table like instrument. She shrugged out of her coat and tossed it onto a waiting stool, that was new she was rarely so careless with her gear.

Ned walked over as Herian pulled out a bench from in front the table instrument and then she sat on it. He stood to the side of her within her sight but not leaning on the instrument, it was odd she hadn't sad anything but then what was there to say.

She watched her bouncy slightly adjusting the bench then raised her hands to the instrument and played.

The song was soft and lulling a lullaby, she played slowly mostly in the lower keys. After a few bars she started to hum with her song.

Eddard watched fascinated, the instrument let itself well to her agle fingers. The song was not only only a minute or two, when she paused Ned transferred the elf discarded coat to the floor and sat beside her to watch.

"What is it?" Ned asked nodding at the instrument.

"A piano, it is the first instrument I was taught and what I used to learn notes for song." Herian smiled, and rotated her wrists, they weren't used to this anymore.

Warmth stirred in Neds chest, she was sharing with him again. "I like it, will you play another please?"

Her smile made it worth it, and he really didn't like the sounds. He watched as she pressed on a foot pad on the instrument and started to play again. This time all the notes were very low and she needed only one hand as she started to sing.

:My life goes on in endless song

Above earth's lamentations,

I hear the real, though far-off hymn

That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife

I hear it's music ringing,

It sounds an echo in my soul.

How can I keep from singing?:

She hummed through a few bars slowly playing.

:While though the tempest loudly roars,

I hear the truth, it liveth.

And though the darkness 'round me close,

Songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm,

While to that rock I'm clinging.

Since love is lord of heaven and earth

How can I keep from singing?

When tyrants tremble in their fear

And hear their death knell ringing,

When friends rejoice both far and near

How can I keep from singing?

In prison cell and dungeon vile

Our thoughts to them are winging,

When friends by shame are undefiled

How can I keep from singing?:

Ned was entranced, while he heard the words it was more the voice that held him captive. She would sway slightly as she played, there was no strain in her voice the song demanded softness.

He watched as she moved from one piece to another, she moved her foot back under her and started a wordless song. The rhythm was again very soft but the notes higher and more of them. The Stark was torn between watching her fingers dance over the keys and watching her relaxe note by note. Her eyes would lull open and shut, her hair falling in waves. Ned longed to reach out a tuck a curl behind her ear but he didn't want to disturb her.

She moved into another song again her foot came back to peddle and she started to hum.

:I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls

With vassals and serfs at my side,

And of all who assembled within those walls

That I was the hope and the pride.

I had riches all too great to count

And a high ancestral name.

But I also dreamt which pleased me most

That you loved me still the same,

That you loved me

You loved me still the same,

That you loved me

You loved me still the same.:

The song, the soft voice behind it made made Neds heart ache. He was quickly drawing the parallels, a song about being loved for no other reason then for who they were, not what.

:I dreamt that suitors sought my hand,

That knights upon bended knee

And with vows no maidens heart could withstand,

They pledged their faith to me.

And I dreamt that one of that noble host

Came forth my hand to claim.

But I also dreamt which charmed me most

That you loved me still the same

That you loved me

You loved me still the same,

That you loved me

You loved me still the same.:

She rose and fell through those last two words then hummed the conclusion. When her fingers came to rest Ned reached out and brushed the lock of hair from her face.

Herian turned to him and smiled, he cupped the side of her face and she closed her eyes leaning into his hand.

Fluidly he moved from the stool to the bench and stole a kiss, as soft and slow as the music she had played. Time faded away and he enjoyed her, she was so very relaxed, melting into his arms with a soft sigh. After a time he broke the kiss and rested his forehead to hers, sharing breaths.

"I will have to find a way to get a piano to Winterfell." Ned said softly with a smile. "Then you can play for me whenever you want."

Herian purred softly. "I would enjoy that."

They shared a shorter kiss then Ned watched as her eyes light up and she leaped from the bench, taking her hands in his and drawing him into a side room.

This room was vastly different from the main one, the ground was covered in thick mats of a make he didn't know. A variety of thick pillows were piled into corners in a way that could only be described as nesting. Reds, purples, blues, some embored some not, all fine and plush.

When Herian toed off her boots he followed suit, leaving the footwear by the door. She crossed the room with a bounce in her step, set her fingers on the wall and opened a panel. Instead were crystals with runes marked on them.

Ned wiggled his toes marveling at the soft carpets and wandered the room, he unclasped his cloak from his shoulders again and set it on the floor beside the best developed nesting of pillows and sat. He leaned back slowing in case one of the pillows slipped, but none did and soon he was very comfy watching his elf contemplate what crystal to activate. She was doing that cute lip nibbling, head cocked wolfishly thing she did when she was trying to decide something.

After another minute, Herian pressed down on one of the pink gems and sound bloomed all around them. He jump started and looked around for the source but couldn't find one.

A giggle drew his gaze back to his elf and she crossed the floor and sat beside him, snuggling happily against him. A voice not unlike Herian but very slightly higher sounded from all around them, accompanied by what he guess was a lute.

:There was an old witch

Used to live in this house

Traveling havoc both north and south

Old witch living.

In a post and beam house,

And now I'm making it mine.

Spirits in the rafters

Creak of old wood

And what if the banshee is alive and should

Come back to haunt me

With a gunpowder tin

I got a loaded revolver

And a rolling pin.

Old road leads to not much of a place

Where a fresh young wife dare not show her face.

New tracks in the snow,

The buck and the doe

My only companions at forty below.

There was an old witch

Used to live in this house

Traveling havoc both north and south.

Old witch living,

In a post and beam house

And now I'm making it mine.

Old old house at the neck of the wood

In the pitch of the night where the tamarack stood,

I hear of the witch used to live in the house

All the folks knew her for miles about.

But now the house has come to my hands

The whistling wind and the whispering land.

All mine for the taking,

Come to my care

I look in the forest there are angels there.

There was an old witch

Used to live in this house,

Traveling havoc both north and south.

Old witch living

In a post and beam house

And now I'm making it mine.:

After the song concluded another started to play but Ned asked. "Who and how?"

Herian purred, resting her head on his chest. "Rebecca Pidgeon for who. How, my grandmother likes to collect songs, we call them recordings from her travels in other worlds. She made this room to play the recordings, I never really learned much of it beyond that. I've made a few recordings but I don't know how the room works."

Ned played with a lock of her hair, it twisted around his finger in a way that made him smile. Sometimes he was quite sure her hair had a mind of its own. He thought that would really be something, to have music whenever you wanted and to not have to play it yourself. Just how many wonders did this world hold? How much could he and his people learn from them?

That set him down a path, these Tamrielians had so much but what did the North have to offer them? Gold, furs, if they room they were sitting in was anything to go by fur wasn't a natural resource in Morrowind, but he wouldn't send out hunter just for pelts. He frowned, there really wasn't much on Westeros that he could think of they they didn't already have.

Herian moved to straddle him, she reached up with a hand and traced the corner frown. "Why?" She asked.

Ned sighed and took her hips in his hands. "Just thinking about your world and mine, how we would like to start trade, but what does the North have to offer your people? You have so much to teach us, but we have so little to give in return."

His elf rested her hands on his chest, Gods he really needed to stop referring to her like that in his mind. His elf, if he ever let that slip he would be in a world of hurt. He drew little circles on her hips, sliding his fingers under her tunic, but she was his. He watched as the thoughts flutter through her mind, the occasional twitch of her ears that would cause them to flattened to her head. A bad idea he guessed, or when they would relax or flick up slighting, a good one.

"Well, Winterfell has furs and wood, we don't have much of either in Morrowind. It's mostly swamp and ashlands, there is always the trade of metals though we have some of the richest mines in Tamriel. But we also have little skill with wood crafting, or farming of grain fields. Ironwood would be highly valued, perhaps even on the level of ebony." She played with the collar of his tunic. "Mayhap when winter starts to close in, some of your small foke could trade places with some of ours. The Kwama queen will need miners to care for her and others to farm mushrooms. I am sure some of your smallfoke would enjoy skipping winter." She wiggled her hips slightly and shifted her knees getting comfy. "I could put the word out and see if anyone here would like a change of pace. Glover might be willing to change up locations, I imagine he's a bit bored of Raven Rock by now. He is a talented smith, I would be curious as to what he could do in Winterfell." She nibbled her lip. "Also the North has rather perfect conditions for creating Stalhrim, it would be a bit of challenge to form without the Nordic entombment rituals but doable."

Ned wondered what Stalhrim was but was sure he would find out someday. It did however sound like this was not the first time she had thought on it. "A culture exchange." Ned offered.

Herian grinned. "Good idea, we haven't had one here is centuries, that would really shake things up." She wiggled again. "We could tie it in with your name day celebration. That way we would only have to host one gathering."

"And if you get the word out soon, and I do the same." Ned said a smile forming on his lips, it would be hell to organize but a great boom to the north.

"We wouldn't just be trading with the North but maybe the rest of Westeros, maybe even Essos if we give enough time for word to spend. Maybe help it along with some products, armour, weapons, spices, give them something to want to look forward too." Herian sat up straight and clapped her hands with delight.

"You're brilliant." Ned said with a smile, watching her.

Herian blushed and kissed him, his arms coming around her to hold to his chest. The music played on, from artist to artist while the pair listened and talked on how to create a culture exchange.

 **Herain plays two of Enya's piano songs and "In Marble Halls" is hers as well.**

 **Thank you to jackli10345, aesir21, DarkBlight, Hiei-Uchiha, BrutusPrimus and Apollonir for your reviews.**


	32. Chapter 32

Looking In

Daenerys

The Mother of Dragons looked out into the streets of Qarth from Xaos Xhoan Daxos palace, everything was so bright compared to the desert wastes she had come from.

There was a knock on the door, Xaos and Jorah Mormont came into the room the later in his slow soldiering way the former with bird like grace.

Dany found him strange, with his languid movements, though he was still an elegant man with a bald head and a great beak of a nose which is crusted with rubies, opals, and flakes of jade, giving him the aspect of some strange glittery bird. His fingers were long and elegant.

"Khaleesi." Jorah greeted gruffly like big bear he was.

"Jorah, Xaos." She greeted each in turn.

Xaos helped himself to a cup of wine. "News from the six Kingdoms my Queen."

"Six?" Dany asked, last she knew they were seven.

Jorah chimed in, where the north was considered he knew far more then the Prince. "King Eddard Stark has broken the North from the other Kingdoms. He now rules from the Neck to the Wall and beyond."

Xaos spoke. "Robert Baratheon has given up his throne to his brother Stannis."

Daenerys' was quiet as she thought on that, conquering the seven Kingdoms just got harder now that one had broken from the rest. She would have to assault the North separately.

"What is this King Stark like? Who are the Starks?" Dany asked.

Xaos near pouted, these were not questions he could answer.

Jorah spoke up. "Eddard Stark is among the most honorable man I have ever known. But he is cold, with a heart full of ice. Currently he is without wife as the last one was murdered and word is he has refused to remarry. The Starks are a family that can be traced back to the Age of Heros, with wolf blood in their veins, though how it shows varies from Stark to Stark."

Maybe then she would only have to win the South after all, perhaps this Eddard Stark would favour marrying her over war. She did have three dragons after all, though Xaos stood as a problem there, but then men died in war not women.

"Why does he not marry?" Daenerys asked.

The two men looked to each other, neither wanted to ran on her 'Queen of Dragons' parade.

Jorah started slowly. "The rumour is that he has taken a 'Dunmer' to bed, a strange elf creature who is both wolf and dragon. It is said when she speaks the very ground trembles with the power of her voice. That she is dragon blood and soul, who cannot be burned and weaves magics and fights with the might of a dragon." Varys' letter said that she might even be carrying the Kings' child, but that they would take care of that.

"What is a Dunmer? Some offshoot of the Targaryens?" She asked.

"No, her skin is ash and her hair and eyes red like a volcano. We don't really know, no one does these are her words with little context." Jorah said. "But an Altmer has come to Kings Landing, he calls himself a High elf and this Dragonborn a Dark elf."

Dany almost sneered at the use of Dragonborn, she was the Mother of Dragons what right did this strange foreign woman have to call herself Dragonborn.

"Let the north have their King for now." Dany said smoothly, her mind was racing but her curiosity was peaked. "I take it you have more news?"

"Monsters are spreading rapidly, creatures that have not been seen in centuries are returning in force. King Stark has asked the Lords to inform him if these monsters become a threat, apparently his Dragonborn this, Herian is trained to fight monsters." Jorah sat on one of the fine benches.

An idea started to form in Dany's mind, if this Herian hunted monsters getting her away from the North would be easy. Dany wanted to see this imposter. "Write to this King Stark, say we have a monster in Qarth and need assistance. I want to meet this Herian Dragonborn." The Targaryen spoke with absolute authority.

"Are you sure Khalessi?" Jorah said. "No one really knows who or what she is. She could take offense to you as you have to her."

"I have three dragons." Dany said.

"And she is a Dragonborn, one doesn't get to be called something like that without reason." Jorah did not like this plan of Danys.

"I have made my decision Jorah." Daenerys said with finality.

Jorah sighed and took a sip of wine.

Xaos on the other hand had to work hard to contain his delight. He and the warlocks had planned to bait the dark elf southward, having Daenerys be the summoner made their plans much easier.

Joffrey

The Lannister bastard sniffed and pulled his cloak tighter around him, he wanted to go home! Not be riding a stinky horse escorted by his real father up northward on the Kings' road.

"Why are we going north again?" Joffrey whined.

"Father asked that I take you to see the Wall." Jamie lied.

Joffrey pouted, he didn't care about some frozen wall of ice on the edge of civilization. "But why?"

Jamie hated having to lie, but if he didn't the little shit would run and he would have to run his own sword through him. Tywin had made it very clear that he would house no insane bastard. The younger children were alright so far, they were showing none of the usual product of their conception.

Tywin was going to great lengths to him Jamie and Cersei apart, her where he could keep an eye on her and proving some slight use with the Altmer and him all the way in Casterly Rock. Tyrion had stayed on in Kings' Landing preparing himself to take over Petyrs' role as Master of Coin. Petyr was moving to the Vale as he had no wife or children he had to hold his Lordship on his own.

Jamie spoke again. "The Wall is something any true Lord must see."

"I was to be a king." Joffrey sneered.

Jamie looked at him sadly, he would have made a horrible king. "Kings too, when times are dire even the King must see to the Wall."

"But now King Stark." Joffrey spat the name. "Has to take care of it alone."

"No, Stannis and Eddard kept to the original arrangements when it came to the Wall." Tywin had told him that much.

Joffrey shivered, snow dusted the ground he really hate it above the neck.

Day by day they moved north camping rather than staying at inns, when Joffrey again asked why Jamie lied again and said that Joffrey needed to build his strength. The truth was that Tywin wanted Joffrey gone with as little fuss as possible.

Eventually they reached the Wall though its magnificence was wasted on a very cold and unhappy Joffrey.

Alliser Thorne was waiting for them by the gate, he was a slim and sinewy fifty-year-old, dry and hard, with black eyes and black hair streaked with grey. He had no smile and spoke in a cold voice. "About time Lannister, I was beginning to wonder if you had frozen to death."

Jamie smile sharply. "Wishful thinking."

"Do you intend to stay? Or are you just dropping your bastard off?" Alliser asked, Tywin's raven had arrived some time ago.

"Just dropping off." Jamie said this was going to be painful enough as it was.

Joffrey didn't gasp what was going on as he looked between the two men.

"Right then this way boy." Alliser gestured for Joffrey to follow.

"What's going on? I've seen the wall can't we go?" Joffrey asked.

Jamie bit his tongue and did as he was told. "Father has ordered that you take the black. You're staying, I have to go home."

Joffrey's world came tumbling down around him, he wasn't going to be a King or a Lord, he was just going to be one more bastard on the Wall. "But~!" He started.

Alliser cut him off. "Hurry up welp, I have other recruits to see too."

Joffrey looked at his father, but Jamie did not look at him, just turned his horse and started down the way he had come.

Joffrey didn't know what to do, he wanted to scream and shout, demand to be taken home. Jamie rode away not once looking back and Joffrey felt despair fill him. Mutely he got off his horse and followed Alliser into Castle Black.

Bran

Bran's eyes snapped open, he dreamed of flying again and the three eyed crow. He stared up into the ceiling, the crow had taught him how to fly while his back had been broken. It visited him less now, but that could just be because he wasn't bound to his bed as he had been then.

He liked flying he could see the whole world when he was flying, to the North beyond the wall, to the south to Kings Landing and across the narrow Sea.

His wolf Summer looked up at him, the wolf always seemed to know when he went flying.

"Good morning Summer." Bran reached out and pet the wolf between the ears.

Hopping out of bed he got ready for the day, fall had come and caused a slight chill no matter where you were.

When he and Summer got to the great hall he saw that most of his family was already there, this Father, elder brothers and eldest sister. Herian was there as well, reading something as she ate he could see from here how fast her eyes danced over the page.

He didn't like her eyes, they were so dark a red like the fires he had seen of Valyria. Only her hair unsettled him more, like blood cascading down. His Father said something and he could see her ears twitch slightly to focus on him.

Bran and Summer took their places and set about breaking their fast, his family greeted him Herian included and went back to their business. He listened as Jon asked Herian to spar with him, the elf gave a little smile and agreed, but those red eyes were far away.

Bran had heard that she was working project in the crypts that would help Winterfell in the winter, it had been several weeks so he figured she would be done soon. He hadn't gone down to explore it yet, the crypts frightened him. He had heard Father and Jon talking about a spirit that had attacked them in the crypts.

Sansa and Robb talked about Highgarden about the stories they had heard and how Sansa wished to go with Jon, Robb and Herian when they went down. Father shook his head and said something about it being little safer than King's Landing. That shut Sansa up, he saw his sister glance down at the household tables, following his sister's gaze he found the Hound.

The Hound was almost as bad as Herian, with half of his face melted off and his crude manner, the couldn't imagine why his sister liked to spend time with him.

Breakfast concluded and he followed Herian, Jon and Robb into the yard.

Jon was using his ebony sword again, Herian her black ones.

Bran went and stood with Robb as they other two squared off.

Like the snap of lightening the combatants exploded. Bran was both amazed and frightened by both of them. Jon had changed so much since Herian took him for apprentice, not only was he fast growing nearing her height he as faster, stronger, better in every way. When they clashed Jon meant Herian blow for blow, their strength near equal their speed evenly matched. Though Herian still employed her gifts more fluidly, frequently slipping in blows under Jons' guard. Jon was so different he held himself with power and grace, just like his master. Sometimes they spoke in a different language, Bran thought it very pretty though he understood none of it. He always wondered what they were talking about that they didn't want to say in common.

Again and again they clashed, attacking and disengaging almost faster than the eye could follow. They spared at this fast, furious pace for a solid ten minutes before Herian called an end to it.

Jon traded his ebony blade in for a training sword, then it was Robb's turn.

Bran watched as Herian prowled around them offering corrections to both, the fight was both less controlled and more now. Bran could see Jon reeling his new power in so he didn't just overpower his elder brother, he could see how the style changed it was strange but now he saw just how much Jon was taking after Herian. One minute he was fighting like a Witcher the next like Knight, it wasn't hard to see the better style. But Robb would never learn to fight like a Witcher so Jon toned it down, was slower more careful.

Bran thought back on the times when his Father would spar as well, now that Mother was gone. He blinked back tears, he could tell Father was trying to fill in the void, spending more time with each of them. When Father and Herian spared that was something else altogether. Ned couldn't be as fast or strong as Herian, but used Ice to his advantage to keep her at bay, it was hard tell who had the most experience Ned was older but Herian lived to fight.

The interesting thing was Bran could see the little things they picked up from each other, Herian claymore work had improved as had Neds footwork. Little bit by little bit they learned from each other, without saying a word.

When swordplay was done they moved on to magic. Herian took center strange spoke a while in dunmeri Jon nodding as she went.

Bran held his breath as Herian cast her spell, the light was purple, it created a skin tight purple shield around her.

Jon tired and failed, Herian reached out showed him again the tiny changes she made in her hands when she cast. Again Jon tired but this time he got it, they spent the rest of the morning doing this, going from spell to spell, one shield to another then she made Jon summon fire. Then she let him cast it on her, bolts, then touch spells, she spoke in Dunmer the whole time.

Bran wished she would speak in common, when he asked Jon about it he only shrugged and said something cryptic about controlling information and how dangerous some information could be in the wrong hands. He offered to teach Bran Dunmeri but Bran said no, he had enough lessons from Luwin.

When the lessons were over Herian assigned Jon more reading and they parted ways. Robb went off to learn more of the household from Father, Jon went to raid Herians developing library.

Bran followed Herian from a distance, she was going into the crypts again. Bran bit his lip and followed with Summer, he stayed away from the elf but kept her in his sights. Deep they went into the crypts, the statues felt they they were staring at him. Eventually they came into a huge cavern, he followed as Herian moved to the middle of a wall, pulled a hammer, chisel and her rune map from her satchel. With a flick of her wrists she made the map levitated and started to carve into the wall.

Bran crept closure and saw the runes were almost done, she only had a meter left to finish her gate. Bran crept out of the crypts, he definitely didn't like it down there.

Moradil

Moradil was kneeling nude under stars, on a large pillow he had borrowed from his room. There wasn't an ounce of fat on his body, he was lean and strong, his skin a dark golden, loose his long black hair reach to the middle of his shoulder blades.

The Altmer was shifting through the murky magics of King's Landing trying to scry northward. It was difficult, very unlike what he was accustomed to in Tamriel, here he had to flow through the earth, slip around spirit monsters lurking in wait. However he was no youthful novice and after a few attempts he was flying northward, avoiding places like the Isle of Faces. When he breached the Neck much of his speed was drained from him.

Suddenly he felt as if he was being pulled down into the muck. Moradil summoned up both the local magic and his magicka and pushed forward. With a burst he was free, he raced straight for Winterfell unwilling to linger and get trapped again. Like a shade he slipped into the crypts in time to see Eddard Stark kneel before a rune carved wall and speak.

Dread and hope filled Moradil, then with a boom the gate was open. He watched as Herian pulled Eddard through the gate, then two dunmer wizards came through and he fled. Herian was not magically trained but a wizard would sense him from a mile away.

Back in King's Landing Moradil's golden eyes snapped open and he rose fluidly. He didn't bother to cloth himself as he poured himself a shallow cup of wine. The elf took a sip and grimaced, much too sour for his tastes. He leaned against the table thinking as he drank. Herian had opened a gate, but only the Eight could guess what she planned to do with it. On one hand that was a sure way home, on the other Herian would likely try and take his head if he got anywhere near Winterfell. Not to say he wouldn't as well, coming home with the blood of a Dragonborn on his hands would do wonders for his standing. He swirled his wine, watching the red liquid chirn. What he could do with dragon blood, a smirk graced his lips.

There was a knock on the door.

Moradil rolled his eyes with his luck it would be that Cersei woman again. "Enter." He called out.

He was surprised when the eunuch, Varys if he remember correctly.

If Varys was surprised by the High elf's state of undress he didn't let it show. "My Lord Moradil." Varys started.

Moradil scoffed. "I am not a Lord. If you so desire to give me a title I am a warlock."

"Warlock then." Varys loathed magic, he progressed into the room slipping his hands into his purple silken sleeves. "I understand that you have no fondness for my kind, but we find ourselves at a disadvantage. While Herian was here she rarely," he paused thinking on his words. "Rarely showed her cards, we don't really have a good idea of what she is capable of."

Oh this was rich, he wanted information on Herian, a twisted smile found its way onto Moradils lips. "If you think I will just give you information one someone like Herian you are sorely mistaken."

"Why would you protect her?" Varys asked.

Moradil laughed a smooth sound. "I am not protecting her, I am protecting myself. She has opened a gate between our worlds, if I ever want to go home not getting on her bad side is a good way to start."

"A gate?" Varys asked.

Moradil scowled at him. "A gate between worlds, Herian as open one under Winterfell. I haven't the faintest idea what she plans to do with it." He sipped his wine.

Varys could think of many things, walking into the room he helped himself to a chair. "What position does Herian have back home?"

Moradil was starting to like this mortal, he asked good questions, after refilling his cup he joined Varys reclining on a fine bench. "Herian is the youngest of her family and the most mortal of the lot. As an Indoril she as the political power to more or less do as she wishes. She follows the Reclamations and Hircine, and if her peoples were to come over would probably act as priestess if the need arrouse. She is trained as a Ranger and is one of the heads of the Calvary. While not in a place of power there, in an attack she would be a front liner. Her and Korta have the loyalty of most were-creatures and can call on them. There really isn't much she can do, people just listen to her, she can be," Moradil took a sip to look for the word. "Charismatic, when she wants to be."

That was less than what Varys thought she woudl have, but did give him an idea of who she could call on. "So she is not a position of great importance."

"No, but she is Dragonborn. I would not recommend pissing her off." Moradil thought it might be amusing watching a dragon unleashed on these mortals.

"Why?" Varys asked.

Moradil looked at him like he was an idiot. "With just her voice she could call down a storm, or a maelstrom destroy this city without lifting a finger. With three words she can call a dragon to her side or raise the dead in legions. Those of Dragonblood are war machines, Nerevar saw to that. One of the Dragonblood can devour the entire cities, force dragons to kneel and devour the souls of anyone stupid enough to stand their ground." There had been a reason the Thamlor surrendered rather than fight when Nerevar rose up with her Edonheart Pact. One dragonborn could change the tide of a battle, a family trained as warriors with complete mastery of the Dragon Tongue. Not something you wanted to challenge.

Varys remember her roar, this Dragonborn made the Targaryens look like children playing with sticks. To have wills so great they could force Dragons to submit? He needed to write to Jorah, he had to keep Dany away from this Herian.

Moradil watched the thoughts race through the humans' mind, maybe what he had said would keep the Lords here away from the North. He for one didn't want to see Herian's ire raised, from what he had heard she had been very careful when in King's Landing.

Varys rose he had letters to write. "Thank you for your time." He swept from room in time to avoid Cersei as she was about to knock.

Cersei swept past him in a wave of silks, closing the door behind Varys. She smile at Moradil, her eyes flicking appreciatively over his nude body.

Moradil had half a mind to dress just to disappoint her but then he was bored and she was pretty enough. He set his cup down and rose with elven grace, he could see her swallow as she had to look up to him. He reached up and took a lock of her golden hair between to fingers, the sear amount of it made it heavy, though it was soft.

"Why do you keep coming here?" Moradil asked, thinking that she smelled rather nice as well.

Cersei licked her lips, distracted by the smooth strong planes of his chest. She came because her father was keeping everyone with a cock, but him far away from her, because she knew what her father wanted. She thought the high elf quite handsome in a sharp away.

Moradil looked at the loose ties of her gown pulling them apart one by one, till he pushed the light cloth from her shoulders. He stepped back a step, casting his golden eyes over her body. She wore no small clothes and had the look of a woman who took care of herself, despite three births she had her figure well. Though she lacked any muscle really to speak off, soft and plump. Moradil didn't really like soft women, he would much rather have a warrior in his bed but from what he had gathered. Women were not allowed to fight in this culture, so his options were rather limited and he was bored.

He stepped back to her and cupped a breast, brushing his thumb over her nipple.

Cersei felt strange and vulnerable under his gaze, she had been with men taller and stronger than herself. But they had all been overtaken by her beauty, it felt like Moradil was analysing her, like he hadn't decided whether or not he wished to fuck her. His cock remained flaccid and he touched her testing her, his hand traced the curve of her ribs down to her belly and with a twist of his fingers he cast a spell on her.

Cersei felt a warm strangeness overtake her for a second, but as quickly as it had come it past.

Moradil quirked his lips, now that she was disease free he'd risk fucking her. His kind had a good natural resistance but if the rumors about her were true, one could never be too careful.

"Come." He ordered.

Cersei followed him to bed, how he stripped her of her boldness she would never know.

 **Blaaa, here I think this is the last one of these you will be getting for a while. I am working on and off on the next chapter but I have no idea when it will be out.**

 **Mostly because I have fallen to my plot bunnies, I have tried long and hard to resist but with the combined power of Batman Tell Tales games season one finished and catching up with the most recent Dresden Files book. I am giving in, my next story will be a Batman (Tell Tale games, their world is just so neat and tidy I must use it) Dresden Files crossover. It will be a merging of the characters Bruce Wayne and Harry Dresden, personalities, skills, appearances, names and lastly stories. I am not going to say more for fear of spoiling but I hope my merging the characters I will get to explore what I want and it will appeal to Batman and Dresden fans alike.**

 **And the first person who whines about Bruce having magic, I will take out behind the chemical shed and shoot. Hehe I love V. I love batman but recently even I have having issues suspending my disbelief, you can only throw him into a wall so many times before his spine would be dust and his brain leaking out his ears. And so this crossover was born, I don't have it named but I will at least point at it when I have the first chapter posted.**

 **Thank you to all who reviewed, you guys help me keep the ideas flowing.**


	33. Chapter 33

Pieces Found

Eddard

Eventually Herian peeled herself away from Ned and they resumed their exploration. He was quite content to let Herian pull him from room to room, the library was frankly huge and had a miss mass of books bound in leather or some strange paper thing. In their half hour exploring he counted no less then books in eight different languages, suddenly Herian's several languages made sense.

Next they roamed through the armoury, armours from one side of the wall to the other, and beyond it was smithy, but rather than be outside it was in the sublevel there was no wood or coal for this forge but stead a pool of lava heated the forge. It was crafted from a black stone that Ned had no name for, but he had a feeling it was something Nerevar had created. The forge was less for show then the hall above, as he could clearly tell. The hall was almost for show, armours ranging from netchleathers to Daedric with one weapon of each type mounted on the wall.

The Forge however had bits and pieces of armour some resting on the floor others on tables or chairs, weapons half finished resting. Ned watched Herian gravated to the lava pool and gaze into it. For a moment he could see a much younger Herian sitting beside it as a family member pounded metal into shape. The cavern reminded him off the cavern they were using below Winterfell, smooth and dark but magelight sconces had been carved into the walls. He made a mental note to ask for them in the cavern, they would save a fortune on wood and labour.

When they returned to the house above Severus was waiting for them, while admiring a set of ebony armour. It couldn't hold a candle to the Ebony Mail he wore as the champion of Boethiah, but given another decade or two Nerevar would get there.

He inclined his head to the pair and spoke. "Herian, Chani would like your assistance making the midday meal."

"Okay." Herian looked to Ned but then Severus said.

"I can keep him out of trouble, go I am rather sure she wanted to speak to you." Severus's tone left no room for argument and was almost fatherly.

"I'll catch up to you later." Herian kissed Ned on the cheek and reluctantly walked off.

Ned watched her hips as she went, she was just about back to normal, healed from the Wendigo.

He noticed Severus smirking at him and blushed very slightly.

Severus smiled slightly. "She is quite remarkable."

Ned cleared his throat. "Very."

"Come with me." Severus turned on his heel and strode from the room giving Ned no choice but to follow.

Ned followed the order, part of him found it strange. He was King of Winter, yet one word from Severus and he was the one following without complaint. Eddard pondered that, and came to the conclusion that here he wasn't King of anything, Herian had introduced him as Eddard Stark. He had no doubt that Severus and Chani knew the rest, but they treated him like an equal and seemed to expect the same. It was rather refreshing, only Herian hadn't ever really bothered to do the that.

Severus lead him to a dark room its walls lined with cabinets, within rows upon rows of thin vials no longer than Ned's pinky finger. In each vial was a smoky blue substance that swirled and slithered around within its container. A date was imprinted on the exterior of each and every vile, documenting some unknown event. As Ned glanced amongst the countless number of vials, the Stark felt a chill run down his spine. For some reason, the substances unnerved him to a significant degree. Such a feeling was felt near the very center of the room, where a shallow stone basin stood, filled to the brim with black liquid.

Severus strode over to nearest cabinet and plucked three vials from it. Moving to the middle of the room, he poured all three into the black liquid and set the vials aside.

Ned watched as Severus tapped a finger on the basin, debating what to say.

"What has Herian told you of her role in our world?" Severus carefully asked.

"That she is a Witcher and Ranger, the first time we spoke of her she spoke of herself rather degradingly as a weapon." Ned recalled. He remembered how polar her emotions had been that day. It had practically been a raging storm compacted down and stuffed into her skull that only slipped out when it wanted to.

"Has she told you of the Calvary?" Severus asked.

"A little." Eddard said.

"Place in your face within the bowl please." Severus said gesturing to the bowl.

With a quirk of his brow Ned did so, suddenly he felt as if he was tumbling through the sky when with a sudden jerk he landed.

 _The sun was high, the field barren and black, burned away by magics and battle. Off in the distance he could see a castle is walls rising high._

 _He spun on the spot the stumbled back. Before him was a massive Dragon, it spanned the field it reminded him of stories of Balerion the Black dread for the sheer size of the creature. However unlike Balerion this dragon had green mottled scales and had a green almost mossy substance hanging from its scales. Its wings had holes in them and were a strange mesh of scale and webbing. When the dragon opened its massive maw and roared so loud it made Ned's bones humm he could see a green ooze that seemed to spread over its jaws and teeth._

 _Then he saw who rode upon this dragon._

 _Herian was wearing her Daedric armour with no helm, instead a simple crown of black daedric metal. In her hands was her great bow, gleaming inkly in the light._

 _Severus appeared beside him as Ned stared in awe of the dragon. "Durnehviir and Herian." He offered. "Durnehviir is a dragon near as old as Alduin world eater. He made a bargain with the Ideal Masters he was and now to a lesser extent bound to the Soul Cairn. Unlike most dragon his power is not that of ice or fire. Instead he commands the Dead, among the greatest Necromancer to ever walk Nirn. Herian is the only one who he permits to ride upon him, they were friends in her formative years. I believe his name was the first shout she learned." He gestured to the forces flanking the Dragon._

 _Row upon row of werebeasts, but these were no mindless creatures. No, these were werewolves, bears, lions, boars and even one or two of the ferocious crocodiles that only Argonians could become. What set them apart from their lost brethren was the arms and armour. All wore it one way or another, werewolves and bears favoured carved Nordic and ebony, others wore the armours of their homelands. The lions wore light armour and were challenging magics, fortifying and strengthening those around them. Wolves and bears were armed to the teeth, armours that enhanced their claws to the point of shredding anything that dared crossed them and some had gigantic shields that made for one hell of shield wall. Bloodlust drenched the beast's eyes, and bathed the battlefield with a hunger for blood while they tower over the stunned Stark._

 _A roar above then caused Ned's head to snap up, another dragon slightly smaller than Durnehviir landed before them with a boom. This one was red with horn what flowed back from his head instead of Durnehviirs more rounded ones._

 _Mounted on this dragon was Korta, gleaming in his black dragonbone armour. The mixed blood khajiit raised his bow up in the air and roared a dragons roar. "Welcome friends! This day we shatter the last stronghold of the THAMLOR!"_

 _Ned covered his ears at the bellowing howls of glee that rose from the Calvary._

" _You all know the plan, Herian and Durnehviir will punch a hole in their ranks, then we tear them apart! Let us finish the scum of the Thamlor once and for ALL!"_

 _Again a roar went up and Durnehviir leaped into sky, the beat of his wings creating such wind that a few of the closest werecreatures had to brace themselves._

 _Durnehviir few low and fast to the ground, the Calvary racing in behind him like an arrow._

 _Severus waved a hand and the two of them are floating above the sea of warriors flying beside Herian and Durnehviir._

 _Before them the ranks of the Thamlor formed up fast, mages lobbing off spells only for the bear assigned to each lion. To slow grab their lion and set them on their shoulders and continue as the lions raised magic the shields._

 _A solid purple wall appeared before the line of the Calvary, spells fizzle out when they hit it and were ineffective against Durnehviir._

 _As the attackers approached the line the Thamlor formed a shield wall._

 _Ned watched as Herian rose up from Durnehviirs back and leaped from the fast flying dragon. She fell to the ground a mere meter away from shield wall and SHOUTED.  
_ " _FOS RO DA!"_

 _The shattering force of the shout blasted through the shield wall and all around her first the werewolves flowed into the breach widening it then the heavy hitters the bears and crocs following in. Some used huge greatsword or hammers, other preferred tooth and claw._

 _Herian took a few steps back them leaped up into the air, clearly magically enhanced._

 _Durnehviir swooped in under her and they pair soared over the wall to the gate standing between the Calvary and victory._

 _Herian flattened herself to Durnehviirs back as arrows flew towards the undead dragon._

 _Durnehviir reared his head back and roared. "Gaan Lah Haas."_

 _The purple wave of energy poured over the hapless Thamlour guarding the gate, many died instantly. Then the ancient dragon roared again. "Rii Vaaz Zol!"_

 _The dead rose and attacked their comrades, quickly killing and raising back the fallen. Durnehiir set the newly undead to attack deeper into the castle._

 _Herian leaped down from his back and raced portcullis grabbed the wheel and set about raising it. By the time the Calvary was at the gate, Herian had it open._

Ned was heaved out of the basin and with a jerk he looked to Severus. "Why did you show me that?" He demanded.

"Herian has a position of power and respect, you are stealing her from her people and her home. There will be consequences for this, with the creation of a gate you will have to deal with the politics and peoples of this world as well as yours. Right now Chani is probably trying to calm Herian from a very likely panic attack." Severus's lips thinned. "Her aunt Keria is marrying the crown Prince Danans, Herian will be expected to show. In four months' time Herian will be a member of the royal family." Severus sighed and rubbed his temples. "What I am trying to say, is if you don't marry her soon, the option will be taken from the both of you."

A shout made the house tremble and a smile twisted Severus lips.

Rage stirred in Neds' chest, he had been trying and she kept saying no. "I've been asking her once a day for the last month."

Severus smiled slightly at that. "Herian does have issues with the concept of marriage, but I suspect you will get a different answer now. Make no mistake she will have the power to say no to her many suitors, but alliances must be made. For the safety of the house and clan."

Ned could understand that, after all he had married Catylen for that reason but it still annoyed him.

"With a gate open there will be explorers, merchants and probably any others. This is not the first time this has been done and the last exchange lasted years, peoples coming and going. Herian's presence at your side will keep most in check." Severus said. "But it would be best if you were the controlling force, at least within your own domain."

Eddard understood the fact Herian picked him would give him some authority but he would have to hold his own if he wanted respect and obedience. He needed to talk to Herian that much was clear.

Herian

Herian followed Chani quietly, leaving Severus with Ned set her on edge it was so strange having him here. She was happy about it, but showing him this place was so personal, imitate more so than anything she had done with him before.

Chani's was home, her birthplace the one place where she was never judged. The Witcher rung her hands, she was nervous, what would Ned think of her home?

Chani was shorter than Herian and softer in just about every way. Herian had recovered completely from the Wendigo attack but she hadn't put one much in the way of weight. She touched her cheek, sharp gaunt, not at all lady like. Herian bit her lip and hated her inability to put on weight, damned werewolf metabolism, maybe she just needed to go hunting more.

"Herian dear I can sense your tension from here, the boys will be fine." Chanis' voice was soft and honeyed with that underlying Khajiit purr.

So Eddard was already categorized under the 'boys', Herian guessed that was a good sign. Severus seemed to like Ned and given the fact he had next to no respect for the privacy of ones' own thought. That translated into Chani trusting him, Herian had no doubt that Severus had already plundered her mind and was probably constantly scanning Ned. Herian rubbed her temples, she really needed to learn Occlumency, by Oblivion she just needed to learn more magic period.

As they walked back out into the living areas, the younger elf let her hand trail along the warm walls, the smooth texture of the living house was comforting. Much better than Winterfells cold walls, one time practically crawling her way through them was enough. The house moaned as Chani lead the way into the kitchen.

Herian on the other hand stopped in the doorway, a thicker carved brown ring of growth. Her fingers found their way to old marks, little lines marking her and Irulans growth. Herian had always been taller than Irulan, each little line of hers stayed consistently higher than her cousins. She closed her eyes and leaned into the doorway, then opened them again watching Chani move around the kitchen. This was familiar, it made her happy though she didn't know why.

"How is the baby?" Herian asked from her place.

Chani had a soft small smile, not a grin or smirk but a smile born of peace and happiness. She put a hand to her belly. "Growing strong, given the rate I'd say Severus has very little human blood left. We were never really sure what Boethiah did to him but it seems his human features are just there for show."

Chani pulled out a few carrots and ash yams, and set to cutting. "Have you been taking precautions?"

Herian scoffed. "He is human, he might have magic but he doesn't have that much magic and it's not magicka."

"All the more reason to be cautious, you don't know how they magic of his realm works. He could have more than enough to get the job done." Chani regarded her sternly.

"The magic is based in the land and in emotions. I've figured that much out." Herian straightened and walked into the kitchen, selected a knife from a block and started chopping ash yams into cubes.

"Honey, what act involves more emotion and so connected to nature than sex?" Chani raised a feline brow.

Chop. Herian's knife stilled and a hand flew to her belly. "Well shit."

"You did not think that one through my dear." Chani said with a smile.

Fear twisted in Herians' belly, it was still horribly unlikely and on top of that she had been beaten to a bloody pulp only two months ago. On the off chance that she had been pregnant before then her body would have likely aborted the babe in favour of saving her own life.

She quickly counted the weeks since her last cycle and sighed with relief, her next one wasn't due for a few more weeks. However she was in her prime time of fertility maybe she explain that to Ned so he'd have to leave her be till her next cycle. Or….

"Can you give me a charm? Against pregnancy? I'm only just starting to come to my fertile stage, it would still be safe." Herians' gaze snapped to Chani.

"I will get you a charm, but you should wait till the conclusion of your next cycle. If you are with child you don't want to endanger it. You know what they can do if left on too long if you are pregnant." Chani had enough girls coming to her in that situation she did not ever want to see Herian go through that.

Again fear twisted inside Herian, if you were not pregnant the charms were perfectly safe. If you were… well not even the best healer couldn't save you when you were hemorrhaging internally. Births were still very dangerous affairs, healing spells were still being changed to work on mothers safely. Herian squeezed her eyes shut, healing while birthing was unwise, you had to convince the tissues to continue moving. If you tried healing the normal way the healing the body would try to revert to its prebirthing state, that NEVER ended well.

Herian felt the colour drain from her face, as a Witcher she was never afraid but on this topic just about everything was terrifying. You could be the greatest warrior in the world, but your own babe could still kill you.

Chani put a hand on Herian's arm. "Breath honey."

Herain took a breath as Chani gave the order, doing what Chani told her was as natural as breathing.

"I will get you a charm, but talk it over with your mate. It is your body, your life, but you've chosen to include him, this is something you must discuss with him." Chanis' words were slow and calming.

"Right, uh, thank you." Herians' brain was still stalled.

Chani transferred Herian's cubed ash yams to a bowl with a flick of her wrist and put a carrot under Herian's knife. "Chop."

Herian turned her attention to the carrot and chopped, following orders again was nice.

Chani turned her attention to feeding the fire, filling a pot with water and tossing the ingredients in. Herian cubed up a few Horker meat steaks without really noticing, onions, potatoes and other vegetation well prey to her knife.

Once everything was in the pot, bread sliced, scuttled put out, their island work space cleared and bowls set, Chani dropped her next bomb.

"So Keria is marrying the crown prince." Chani caught the cup that slipped from Herians' fingers.

"WHAT?!" Herian roared in all her dragonic glory, the house trembled, though it was rather used to outbursts like this.

The Witchers' world came tumbling down around her pointed ears, and a new fear took root in her heart.

"Quiet." Chani said with a sharp snap.

The next word out of Herians' had about to been another shout but one word from the elder dragonborn had her snapping her jaw shut with an audible clack.

The youngest elf could feel her chest heaving, panic welling upside of her. It seemed that the rules were finally been thrown out, her family was getting involved… She backed away from Chani till her hips hit the far counter. She raised a hand putting it between them in a 'stayaway' motion. "No." she said her voice shaking.

Chani smoothed and honeyed her tone. "Honey, no one is telling you to do anything. I am just making you aware. Mother will not force you into anything and Korta is the eldest in this realm. He will not ask you to do anything either."

Anything, by the seventeen Herian hated that word, anything meant a lot of different things. None of which she wanted anything to do with, she waited to high tail it but she couldn't leave Ned and with the Gate open she couldn't leave it unattended either. Duty had finally caught up to her.

"No." Herian said again, she felt very very small. Her mind was racing and crawling at the same time.

Chani could tell she wasn't getting through so she opted to throw more information at her, give her something something new to focus on. "You have to attend the wedding now, bring your Ned."

Bringing Ned would help especially if he came in armour with Ice and his crown. She wasn't ready to marry him yet, but… but maybe she could marry him before his gods. She could put off a formal wedding here and all the shit that would stir, and still gain the protection of being married. Of course that would put Ned in danger of anyone a bit to ambitious, which wouldn't do.

Herian weaved her fingers through her hair, what could she do?

Ned and Severus entered the kitchen, Ned quickly took in Herian's addled state and went to her.

She let him draw her into a hug, then followed her out when she took his hand and led him away from the kitchen deeper into the house.

They stopped in a large room, though not half the size of Neds rooms in Winterfell. The walls were lined with bookshelves, though may were emptied but more tombs remained. Thick rugs covered the floor, mismatched and wore. A table covered in parchment, quills and ink, books piled beside it some laid open covered in dust. Armour stands, two empty the others, one held a full set of chainmailed Stalhrim, another of red elven craft to looked more like a battle gown. Arms matching each set hung on the walls beside the stands, swords, daggers, bows, each a work only a true master a grandmaster could produce. The bed was low to the ground and wide, even Ned would be able to stretch in it and not touch the ends. The pillows were thin and wide and everything had a red hue to it.

Ned wandered throughout the room, dust, dust everywhere. Going over to the table he picked up a faded journal, he recognized the tight weaving scrawl as Herians. "This is your room."

Herian nodded and walked up to him, and settled against his chest, her arms slipping around his waist. Her eyes shut as she thought on where to start.

The Stark did it for her. "Marry me. I understand that you do not wished to be used and were brought up to think you would never have too. But marry me, I understand that you are wild, but I also understand that I should not ever try to tame you. Marry me, be my Queen, and not matter what happens, let us face it together. I know you wish to protect me, but perhaps it is time that you let me protect you."

He raised a hand and weaved it through her hair, Herian turned to face to him and they shared a gentle kiss.

Ned could feel her shake slightly in his arms, and let her draw back. "Okay." The word was a whisper. "When we go home, I will meet you under the Heart Tree."

 **A bit shorter then normal but I just felt the need to stop here. The new story is out however I expect it to apply to a very niche audience, so if a Bruce/Batman with magic and a developing issue with a multiple personality disorder doesn't appeal to you I'd give it a pass. It is also very much directed at Dresden Files readers, in my first chapter there are frankly and hundred and one nods to the Files (cause well, I need to the lay down the Rules of Magic and how magic works). So that is all the news for that.**

 **In other news Happy New Year everybody and I hope whatever you did for the holidays was enjoyable! My family was hosting this year so I frankly NO time to work on any of my stories, so that is why this is late, but I took the time to work on my timeline so again this delay will benefit you! (To be fair they usually do) I have a free semester from school so there will be more story... once I can peal myself off of Elder Scrolls Online. I know it was complete rubbish when it came out but with One Tamriel is has become a LOT of fun. Also if anyone out there plays and you see a Herian Stark running across your screen, yes that is me. :P So one could say that the foreshadowing for this chapter has been running around Deshaan. (I know it doesn't count but I am feeling silly)**

 **One fun fact for this story as again I am in a good mood.: In the first versions of this story Catylen lived. (For at least longer then she did here)**

 **Thank you to DarkBlight, BrutusPrimus, ArtimousJackson, ThelonewolfNT and aesir21 for your reviews.**

 **To aesir21, I don't frankly know any other way to portray Dany she always seemed the conqueror to me.**

 **To Brutus, Bran is just doesn't really know Herian, she hasn't spent a whole lot of time with him and if you don't know her or really anyone they can be scary.**

 **To Artimous yes I am pairing Sandor and Sansa, no it will not be a focus for this story. The fact of the matter is that when you get down to it, Sandor is a good man despite his flaws. The number of good men in the world of A song of Fire and Ice can be counted on one hand and in the cannon works, they rather drop like flies. That said, Sandor will develop in this story, as I said before it will not be a focus but it will happen. I have been trying to expand off of Eddard and Herian but the scale of this story makes it hard, it really has been a growing experience for me to juggle this cast. And before anyone says 'age gape' consider the time frame a Song of Fire and Ice takes place in, in that time frame it is frankly NORMAL for there to be an age gape, sometimes much worse then with Sansa and Sandor. Women would often died in childbirth (Its frankly amazing Catylen lived as long as she did) and then there is the whole saying. "If she be barren, send her back." I like the pairing it, it will be a secondary thing as nothing will happen for at least another three years, it may not even happen in this story. (Though I am not promising a sequel) Hopefully that does not offend anyone, I am trying to work within the setting of the story and if it hasn't already been made clear Eddard doesn't really care about a persons birth anymore. Sandor is a Lord a lower Lord but a Lord all the same, and Ned knows he will always treat Sansa right.**

 **Wow, that ended up WAY longer then I intended and I applaud anyone who bothered to read it to the end.**


	34. Under the Heart Tree

Under the Heart Tree

Snow drifted through the Godswood, the moonlight set each flake aglow. The night was still and quiet even the wind was silent. The snow dusted the black ironwood trees, covered the dark ground. King Eddard Stark stood before the weirwood heart's green. His heart was tight with excitement, Luwin was present as well, sitting on cold rock he did not have a part in this but would record and send word to the citadel. King Stark was wearing his very finest black furs, the boots were of a fine soft leather, his breeches and tunic of the finest velvet, he wore a long black cloak with a white wolf pelt over his shoulders. He had pulled his dark brown, black in this light, hair back and tied it behind his head. Groomed his beard to perfection, the bronze crown of the North on his brown, lastly his eyes were a soft grey as he waited for his Queen. His house cloak resting over and arm, it hadn't been used for nearly fifteen years.

Harimand escorted Herian, he wore fine white and gold velvet, his ashen locks pulled back in the same manner as Eddard, his jaw freshly shaven.

Herian walked beside him, her arm looped through his. Her dress was pure white, long light and flowing, it slide over the snow without leaving a trace. Layer upon layer caressed the dunmer's body, it glowed in the moonlight and gleamed like star light. Over her shoulders flowed the Indoril family cloak, clasped just above her breasts. For the first time Ned had seen her, her throat was bare save for the amulet Nerevar had created, the golden wolf and dragon glowed with a inner fire. Herian's dark red hair tumbled in free curls down her back, Ned could see tiny diamonds in her hair catching and reflecting the light. She had her family paint again, the white golden painted accented her eyes and small lips.

Eddard thought that she was the most heavenly creature he had ever seen. He almost forgot to say the words when she approached, he swallowed to clear his throat then spoke smoothly. "Who comes? Who comes before the gods?"

Harimand spoke out, guiding Herian around the pool in slow graceful steps, the snow silent under their feet. "Herian Indoril of House Telvanni comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

The northman restrained himself from reaching out his queen and said. "Me, Eddard Stark of House Stark, King of Winter. I claim her. Who gives her?"

Harry said the next line. "Harimand Indoril of House Telvanni, uncle to Herian." Harimand and Herian stopped before Eddard. "Herian Indoril, will you take this man?"

Herian smiled and said clearly without hesitation. "I take this man."

Harimand released Herian's arm and stepped away from the pair, Herian and Eddard joined hands and knelt before the heart tree.

The King of Winter prayed to his gods for happiness, that he may grow old with his wife and that they would know peace and joy. He prayed for children that they could share together, for their lives to be entwined forever.

Herian was at a loss, on one hand she had her own gods, on the other if she was to be part of this world then she would have to learn these gods as well. In the end she prayed that they would always understand each other, to stand together against all adversities. For happiness and calm, that they might one day roam the world, together.

The lay lines swelled up and settled on Herian the same way they had taken to Ned when he was named King of Winter. She could feel the strange magic swell up within her, it was less hostile than her last encounter with the magic of the lands but it still wasn't terribly pleasant for a creature of fire like herself. Given time she would adjust, it would just be a little while.

After a moment they stood together and Eddard unclipped the Indoril family cloak and gave it to Harimand. The smile from the younger man was so broad and warm, Ned would be happy to have him in the family. In one smooth sweeping gesture, Eddard took the Stark cloak and swept it onto Herian's shoulders clipping it in place. There his hands lingered, gently he touched her neck before sliding them behind her neck to lift her hair free of the cloak and let it fall over it. He noticed her locks were softer than normal, he resisted the urge to touch them again.

"We will leave you two." Harimand nodded and Luwin and the two departed.

The pair was silent till the two men were gone from sight, the snow slowly coming down around them.

"You look beautiful." Eddard said, reaching out and catching a curl between his fingers.

His queen smiled, "You look handsome as well." She reached out and touched his cheek, her fingertips grazing his crown. "This suits you."

He closed his eyes and softly kissed her palm.

"I have something for you as well." Herian grew her hand away and reached behind her neck with both hands and unclipped the amulet. Her hands shock for a moment as it hung between them, but with another deep breath she reached up and fasten it around Eddards.

Instantly he felt a warmth wash through him, old pains from scars and age, vanished and he found himself standing just a little straighter, taller, he felt stronger than ever before. He didn't see the grey disappear from his hair and beard, the lines around his eyes fade away. He looked ten years younger, what he didn't know was that he was.

Herian rested her hands on his shoulders and spoke yet more ritual words. "Stand tall Dunedain. Embrace your elven life and live it to the fullest." Her voice wavered, she could feel him the beat of his heart behind her own.

Her words slowly sank into Eddards brain, why he suddenly felt so good made clear. Without know what to say, he wrapped his arms round her and leaned down and they kissed for several long moments. He felt her hands slip under his cloak to rest on his chest, the tips of her fingers pressing into his tunic.

Eventually they drew apart but remained in one anothers arms. Herian rested her cheek against his chest. "There are rules, if I die you will be returned to a human life span as you are now. You would still have time after, but only your human life. Your life hasn't really been made any longer, you are now just sharing in mine." She spoke softly.

Eddard was at a loss for words, the gift she had given him, there really was no compare. To live as long as her, with her youth, with her life, he could only hold her tighter. "Thank you." He said, and kissed the crown of her head.

Herian drew away and parted his tunic so the amulet would fall on his chest, he watched her and felt the warmth of her essence against his heart. The amulet glowed brightly once, then vanished from sight. "You can call it back into sight whenever you chose, it can't be taken from you." She kissed the spot where it had been. "But it is still safer out of sight."

"Thank you." He said again, then cupped her cheeks in his palms so she would look him in the eye. "I love you."

His queen smiled at that. "And I you." She closed her eyes and leaned gently into his right hand. Though her walk to him, she had felt her stomach was in knots so tight she was afraid she was going to throw up. His words chased that fear away, it would not always be smooth but he was her husband now, that caused a strange calm within her. Like a sword that had been doomed to fall, had been removed, she felt that she was safe now.

"Luwin will file our marriage to the Citadel, but that will be the only raven. I know you still wish to explore this world and keeping this a secret for now is probably wisest." In his heart he wanted to shout this off the ramparts of Winterfell, but for her safety he would re-frame.

Herian could hear his wish behind his words. "After we have the settlers from my homeland settled, I wish to take Jon south. The last stage of his training, some hands on monster hunting. After that and when I am happy with his progress, we will come back and you can announce our marriage to the whole world if that makes you happy."

They kissed again and started to walk from the Godswood, tomorrow would be a busy day.

* * *

Eddard and Herian rose late, and save Harimand and Luwin no one knew of the change that had taken place the night before. However Harimand had brought with him their first party of Rangers. There were eleven teams, one for each kingdom as well as one for Winterfell and the Wall. Most brought their own steeds be it guar or horse, mages were passing out translation amulets, a rather new invention and gold was being exchanged for coins. With the help of Luwin, Herian had created a guild book for lack of a better word for each of the Kingdoms, these too were being passed around.

The air was chilled when Herian entered the courtyard, her Rangers talking lowly in several different tongues. They were all volunteers, Rangers were frequently of the nature that was both a curse and a blessing. They all loved to explore, many more so than Herian, she was tempered by her duty. Most Rangers had no family and Tamriel was a place that encouraged explores, provided that you could defend yourself. As Herian approached the party of twenty six, snapped to attention, backs straightened, heels clacked together.

"Commander!" The Rangers saluted, backs snapped straight.

Herian shook her head and smiled. "At ease, you know how I hate that." She waved a hand dismissively.

The Party relaxed most were at least smiling, and they said. "Yes Commander!" Oh how they loved to press her buttons. Save one or two they had all fought alongside the Indoril, it was part of why they were chosen out of the many volunteers.

Herian rubbed her temples, this was on reason she hated her job. She commanded, but they were all equal and they all knew it.

Horkr a mix of Nord and Dunmer, was a tall wirey man, with greying black hair, pale white skin, stubble on his jaw and pale red eyes. He preferred casual garb, fine cut, from fitting grey tunic, black breeches with black boots again of a unknown make, lastly he wore a red cloak, in favour of armour. His weapon was odd as it was what appeared to be a large broad claymore, with the strangest geared hilt. A wineskin hung from his belt and it was never ever far from his person. Horkr was one of the warriors assigned to the wall, partly because of his bloodlines, partly because he was one of the biggest, fastest and most bad ass werewolves that Herian had ever met. He could and would wipe the floor with Herian, he was near twenty years her elder and it showed in his skill. The tall man walked up and slapped Herian on the back, she pitched forward before righting herself and turning to him with a grin.

"You just missed me." She rose to her toes to get up into his face, poking a finger accusingly at his chin. Horkr was one of her teachers, in the loosest of terms, he visited her family's house a few times after she returned from her life Witchering. He proved a most able sparring partner, as he beat her to a bloody pulp at least four times a week.

Horkr voice was very smooth, but had a underlining growling rumble to it. "Sure thing kiddo." He didn't touch her, he could smell the King of Winter on her and wasn't doing to give any hint of affection.

Herian's smiled faltered, and she shook her head. Pulling a smile back to her face, she turned back to the rest of the party. "Any questions as to your assignments?"

Amsum one of the few argonians that had been brought over, her skills as a healer were what got her the job. "What do you wish as to do if the natives are hostile?"

"Defend yourselves, don't kill if you don't have to. But your are more them welcome to put the 'natives' in their place." Herian stood back ramrod straight as she took on a voice of command.

That rose a few laughs, as Rangers they knew what it was to not be welcome most were werecreatures and there were even two vampires. They were assigned to the Reach and Crowlands, where their persuasive powers would be most useful and where there was plenty to feed them.

Herian surveyed the party again. "If that is all, hit the road the days grow shorter and you want to be settled in your kingdom before winter comes."

Save the Reach, Wall and Winterfell team, the teams head out, were was an addition team for the North that was leaving. The Winterfell team was to answer directly to Eddard, so when ravens came asking for assistance, he'd had a team to send in response if the North team was too far away.

Beyond monster slaying the teams had orders to set up two wayshrines within each Kingdom, these shrines had to be both strategically placed and as far away from each other as possible. Herian was a command for more than just her blood. She had told Ned after having to explain the concept of instant travel at some length about this order, she hadn't told him that these shrines could and had been used to move large groups of people. That the placement she was asking for were place that were not only defensible but capable of quickly being made into forts.

The Commander called it a precaution, the Rangers quite used to this, called it leverage. One of these days she would tell Ned the fine details, but as she said it was a precaution.

Herian watched the mixed matched pairs mounted up and head out. The jingle of gear, the creak of leather as the Rangers departed. She watched them go, and pursed her lips, this would have far reaching consequences, but one thing she had learned in Kings Landing was that she could just trust or share her knowledge freely. It was better to call on her friends and comrades, and deal with the consequences as they appeared. One of the Winterfell team weaved his way through the departing crowd to her.

He was a Nord, though he was near a Imperial in height bustled over, he wore mages robes and pulled a ring from one of many pockets. Herian offered her hand and the small Nord put the small golden ring in it.

"Lets you put your armour into a constant magic pocket, when you shift it will turn your armour to vapour for storage." The Ranger went by the name of Toralf, and was one half the Winterfell team, specialising in healing and experimental magics.

Herian put the ring on and felt the pocket open, it was stored just behind her left hip. "Thank you, I could have used this years ago."

Toralf smiled shyly at the praise from his superior. "Its new, with so many wolves in active service to the Throne, groups have been doing more research outside of the Great House of Telvanni."

"Handy." Herian flexed her fingers, she was running out of fingers for rings, this would make five.

Seeing the large group depart Sandor Clegane and Jon made their way into the yard, now that it had partially emptied. Toralf looked around Herian who was remembering where she had gotten her old rings, why she had gotten them.

"By the NINE!" Toralf's gaze snapped back to Herian. "Why haven't you done anything about that?!" He gestured at Sandor's head.

Herian shrugged. "I'm not a healer, I could barely but put a fractured spine back together."

Toralf's look darken, he marched his little hide over to Sandor and ordered the much larger man to sit, pointing to a bench.

At the word healer and fix, Sandor did as he was asked without even a grumble. He had heard about Bran's amazing recovery, if this man was a greater healer then Herian. Then maybe there was hope for him yet, he tried to quell the hope blowing within him.

Toralf pushed Sandor's hair out the way and studied the scaring. Then rubbed a hand through his groomed beard and said with some cheer. "Well I have defiantly had to fix worse in the past, given the age it will take a few sessions, but even then it will only be a day or two. I have potions that will speed it up." Reaching into one of his many pockets, he pulled out a small vial of red liquid. "Drink this, then I will get started."

Used to maesters shoving potions at him, he down it will little effort. It was a strange thing, both sweet and bitter at the same time, it warmed his insides in a way no wine would ever be able to mimic.

Toralf studied Sandor's scar for several moments, then put his gloved fingers over Sandors jaw and closed his eyes.

Silently Herian and Jon approached, both because they wished to see a master at work.

Toralf's lips thinned this would be a very complicated job. He started with the bone showing through, he stimulated the cells and blood started to pour from Sandor's jaw, quickly Toralf pushed that blood to start forming flesh. It forced the angry flesh around it to join in and start healing, he worked from the inside out. Fixing the holes in his cheek, healing the burned flesh reforming the bases of his ear. By the time Toralf was exhausted, all of the black flesh had been healed away, all the bone was gone, his cheek was sealed back up. The flesh was still very raw and angry but now had a new set of instructions to follow and would restart the healing process.

"How do you do that?" Herian asked studying the mages work, very softly she touched the new flesh of Sandors cheek. She could feel the magic command Toralf had left in Sandors flesh.

Sandor let her, her finger was warmer then he thought was normal and with all the tingling magic on this face he could feel just a little of her's as well. It was a cold thing one moment and hot the next, twisting and changing like a sea during a storm.

"I used his right side as a base and command in the cells of the left to copy it." Toralf pulled a sack from a pouch scooped out a thick finger full of cream and sneered it over the red flesh.

"I understand that. You have to know the command and provide the energy for deep healings. For quick stuff you are asking the flesh to be as it was. How do you teach it to restart like this?" She drew her finger away and Toralf applied the cream.

"A better understanding of how flesh naturally heals and more power. You aren't making flesh, you convicting the subjects own flesh to heal itself faster." Toralf explained.

Jon pulled a note book out of his pocket and started to take notes. Sandor glared at him, but the boy only smiled and mouthed that he would give Sandor a copy.

Herian pondered on that, she had heard that line before, hesitantly she asked. "So like how the Hist trees can manipulate the Argonians, how they make one different from another?"

"Exactly!" Toralf said, finishing with Sandors face. "I will return in an hour and we will work on this again, try to keep the cream on the magic I left will need it to sustain itself. Also don't be surprised if you are hungrier, rebuilding flesh requires a great deal of energy, no matter the source."

Toralf's partner a man polar opposite to Toralf approached from where he had been watching. Valund, a HUGE Nord berserker in carved Nordic armour with a greatsword, with blonde hair, blue eyes and a jaw like an anvil. "Going back to the gate?" He asked his voice a deep rumble.

"Aye, at least till the convergence hits it high point, magicka will be hard to come by." Toralf said.

"Would you like help tapping into the lay lines?" Herian asked, she had included this in her guide books but saw no reason to not aid the healer.

Toralf nodded respectfully. "I would be flattered for you assistance."

Herian turned to Jon. "Tomorrow we head south, inform your brother and be ready to leave at daybreak."

Jon nodded. "See you later."

Valund inclined his head in a small bow. "Commander."

Herian and Toralf departed leaving the others to their training.

 **I know its shorter, I do have the next year of this story planned out, but I am feeling rather down and just can't bring myself to work on this right now. I will also confess I am waiting for the Winds of Winter just a little bit, I am taking everything in the show with a grain of salt, and thus not using it.**

 **Interesting fact, in the first drafts of this story, we were going to have the war of five kings.**


	35. Highgarden

Highgarden

Eddard walked through caverns, they were frankly unrecognizable, the mages had opened another gate that spanned the ceiling allowing fresh air and sunlight into the cavern. A kwama queen had been moved into a side cavern and was getting settled. As he walked through the cavern he watched a few dunmer mages, conjure earth and turn over the ground. Where there was once either smooth rock or bat excrement had been turned into soil and seeded. While the dunmer were used to arid earth, they most definitely had learned to appreciate colour in their lives. It infused the caves, golden wheat, shinying sunlight, reds and blues of the workers garb.

Down went two the passages he had only barely explored the last time he had been in. The ceiling gate hadn't reached this far yet, but the air had vastly improved. Taking the rightmost passage it led into a temple to the Daedra. There were the three god ancestors of the dunmer and Hircine.

He found his queen in her northern furs kneeling in a meditative position before the black statue of Hircine. Rather than disturbing her, he sat beside her, crossing his legs. He expected his hips to protest, but then he remembered the new youth his queen had given him. He felt limber, it was easier to get up in the morning and the aches that came with age were completely gone. He rested his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, tilting his head to watch her.

Herian was serene, not blank but at peace, save post coital cuddles she was rarely this passively happy. He liked the look on her, his gaze drifted to her stomach, she had explained her charm against pregnancy and he respected her opinion. He was rather sure he would never be able to get to her gain any weight, didn't mean he wouldn't try. She was healed and was starting to look much healthier and was eating more, but she didn't have an ounce of surplus fat on her. He was quite content to give her the time she needed, after all he would be sharing in her centuries long life now, time was something they had.

His Queen opened her eyes and shifted to sit on her rear beside Ned, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Hello love."

Ned leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Good morning. The others are gathering in the courtyard, are you sure about this?"

The Dunmer purred softly, resting her head against his chest. "Yes, and it would be rude to change our minds without reason now."

"Since when do you care about being rube?" Eddard asked raising a brow.

Herian smirked. "Since I have to at least attempt to get along with our neighbours."

Ned wrapped an arm around her, his hand falling on her hip. "There was a raven from the Wall this morning."

"Oh?" She asked looking up at him.

"The Rangers brought in two corpuses of their brothers that came back to life overnight. One was killed in the courtyard by setting it on fire the other attacked Jeor Mormont and was destroyed by his Valyrian steel sword." He sighed and pulled her closer. "And Benjen is missing."

Herian was silent for a moment, she wasn't sure what to do with this news. "What are you going to do?"

"Monsters are your area beloved." Ned said.

"Well, undead are pretty easy as these things go. Fire has proven to already work, and this Valyrian steel. There is very little of that right?" Herian asked.

"Very little and no one knows how to make it, but there are some smiths that can reforge it." Ned said.

"Hmm, I purpose after the visit to Highgarden, that you send Jon north. He is almost ready to start on The Path alone and this could make for a good first task. While he goes north, I will go south to Old Valyria and see what I can stir up." She made it sound so simple.

Ned tightened his arm around her on reflex. "No one ever comes back from Valyria."

"I haven't tried yet, besides I know when to run away. There is much we don't know and this Valyrian steel sounds like a good a place to start as any. Jon can contact you by raven and you warg me when I sleep, we can keep in easy contact with one another." Herian snuggled to him.

Ned did not like this idea at all, if she had to go, he'd rather her go north it was closer to start with but she was much better equipped to go south then Jon. He sighed deeply and said. "Alright, I'll have Luwin gather what writing we have on Valyria."

Herian leaned up and kissed his cheek, she could feel how much this cost him. "Thank you."

Eddard turned his face to share a kiss with her. "Just come back."

The Dunmer purred happily. "Always."

With that they departed and headed out to the courtyard, the rest of the party was waiting. Jon; Robb and the Ranger Team for the Reach, a small wood elf vampire by the name of Aerin and the Redguard werewolf Stargel. Aerin wore mages' robes of grey and red with a hood pulled down low over her face, she carried no weapons. Stargel was of medium height, weight and monkish but he had adopted northern garb to stay warm, he carried to dwarven scimitars, not that they deep elves had made them but crafting dwemer was not very difficult. At the sight of their commander the Rangers mounted their steeds and waited.

Jon and Robb embraced their father and followed suit, Herian and Ned embraced one last time before parting.

Herian took lead her escort fanning out behind her, Ned watched from the gate till they disappeared from sight, then headed up to watch them from the bell tower.

Luwin and Rodrick found him there, leaning against a wall watching there horse take them farther and farther away. Even from here he could see the tumbling red locks of his ladys' wild mane.

* * *

The King's road was quiet this day, the only sound was the wind and Jon and Robb asking the Rangers questions.

Herian remained quiet and when Winterfell had finally disappeared on the horizon, she changed to the pace to an easy trot. She wanted to make this trip as short as possible, with no Sansa or Arya to slow them down she was sure they could cut down on the travel time involved.

Jon picked up easily on Herian's silent dower mood, he was a little surprised as she had often wanted to travel. Perhaps she preferred to travel alone or it was the nature of this trip that was bothering her. He let her be instead enjoying spending time with his brother and the Rangers. Aerin had explained vampirism much to Robbs' shock that such creatures could even exist. Jon and the Rangers had only laughed and launched into an explanation of were creatures.

Needless to say by the time they reached the Reach, Robb had a head full of stories and monsters and was thoroughly traumatised if a bit wiser.

The Reach was a rich land full of people, with many keeps, town and cities. Everything was bright and flush, a polar opposite to the North that entranced Robb.

It reminded Herian rather vividly of Toussaint and the Summerset Isles, the Rangers escorted them as far as Highgarden before departing to start on their mission. The white marble of Highgarden was almost blinding in the midday sun and as they headed up the road it screamed to Herian. Of being a place for people who had too much time on their hands, the place stank of wealth and idleness.

The people they passed all paused to stare at the Northeners, as many had never seen a northman before. While Robb was the more handsome that made girls giggle as he past, Jon received attention as well. Herian ignored them and kept their pace steady so the teens didn't get distracted.

Highgardens' courtyard was just a lush and extravagant as the rest of place and two stable boys collected their horses.

Margaery Tyrell is the one to greet them, she is fall fair smiles and is quick to invite them in for lunch with her grandmother. On the way through the white marble halls, she regaled them with the plans for Robbs name day celebration. They meet Olenna in an fine garden, food awaiting them though some is fresh arriving.

Herian gave the eldest Tyrell a small polite bow. "Many thanks for offering this opportunity Lady Tyrell."

Olenna waved a hand dimissily. "Yes, yes, do sit down you came just we were settling for lunch."

The group removed their cloaks and the boys fussed over their fine dark grey velvet tunics, having dressed in their finest that morning.

Herian wore much the same garb as there was no way, anyone would ever convince her to ride in a dress. The only thing her boots however were Daedric and she set her weapons with Jon and Robbs aside on a bench.

Once they were all seated, Margaery began the conversation. "How was your trip?"

"Very quiet." Robb said helping himself to the fine foods and wine. "I've never been out of the North before, the colours of this place are amazing."

Margaery smiled warmly. "I'm glad you like it."

Herian ate sparingly and was content to be silent as they boys spoke with Margaery. When the meal was done, Margaery offered to take them for a turn through the garden to which they both readily agreed.

They rose together even if Olenna was the slowest of the lot, when Herian moved to follow the three teams. "Stay with me, I'd rather show the lady friend of the King of Winter around myself." Somehow she managed to mock both titles without doing so directly.

Herian pursed her lips.

"No harm will come to them." Olenna picked up her cane and leaned on it. "I have as much interest in keeping them safe as you do."

After a moment's contemplation, Herian offered the elderly Lady her arm and said. "I rather doubt that."

Olenna took the offered arm transferring her cane to her free hand. "This is the first time since the war that Starks have been in the Reach, as well as the first time they have been here without obligation. It would look poorly on Highgarden if anything were to happen to its guests."

They started walking following the teens, Olenna set the pace, slower than Herian would have liked. The garden was paved in gleaming marble, grass was perfectly maintained and the air was filled with the scent of flowers as they bloomed around them.

"How is King Eddard Stark?" Olenna asked with a sly smile.

Herian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Very well, thank you for asking."

Olenna found this elf amusing, so very different from the thin fragile creature she had first met. "Has he put a child in you yet?" She asked bluntly.

The Dunmer pursed her lips. "No."

"Can he even?" The elder woman asked.

"I fail to see how that is any concern of yours." Herian had to work hard to keep her ire from her voice.

Olenna smiled at her like she was some small child. "It's been everyone's concern, I hear you are a hot topic in King's Landing, many a Lord is wetting himself at the idea of having your bloodlines merged with the Starks. Tywin even has Cersei trying to seduce some Altmer that appeared in his lands. Though so far she hasn't managed to catch his child yet."

"Altmer? How long ago was this? What's he look like?" Herian asked worried.

"Male, tall dark golden skin, black hair, gold eyes, his armour has an eagle crafted into it. Hmm he's been in King's Landing some months now, I'd guess around a four months ago." Olenna watched Herian carefully.

Fury flashed over Herian's face and she couldn't help but snarl, "Thamlor." she took a breath to rein herself in. "At least I don't have to worry about Cersei becoming pregnant."

"Why is that?" Olenna asked.

The Dunmer looked down at her and didn't bother to hide a sneer. "No Thamlor would lower himself to sire a child upon a mortal human woman." Herian turned her gaze back to the flowers, the Thamlor would be a challenge for another time.

"Is that how you see us? Lessers?" Lady Tyrell asked, though she found it unlikely.

Herian sighed and rubbed her temples with a hand, why she was having this conversation she did not know. "I judge people based on themselves not their species, Thamlor however are believers in elf supremacy. A Thamlor would sooner commit genocide upon the non-mer races, then have a child with one. This Thamlor is probably just bored and using Cersei accordingly."

Olenna had to work to keep the smile from her face, now that was one juicy little morsel. Not only did it give her some much needed insight into the Altmer in the south but it cleared her question from before. Herian could carry King Starks child, but she had the option not to as well, the Dunmer was not very good at this game.

With that the game began, Olenna plucking information out of Herian with ease as the elf was too used to having to explain everything.

* * *

Jon, Robb and Herian meet in her solar after the evening meal, the later with a headache she had never had the likes of before. She rubbed her temples already wishing to be back in Winterfell, she left strangely cut off from magic and it was making her ill.

"Not enjoying Lady Tryell's company?" Robb poured them all wine from a glass pitcher.

Herian swirled the wine, what she wouldn't give for some shien. "No, and here I thought my Grandmother had a sharp tongue. I swear my ears are bleeding."

Jon chuckled. "Well Margery was very nice, the gardens amazing here."

Robb took a sip of the wine. "I'm glad we came."

Herian drank as well and felt the rings on her hand light up. Her eyebrows shot up, "Robb!" She raced forward as Robb's throat turned purple, he reached up to it coughed once, acid started to burn away the flesh. She caught him in time for him to die in her arms.

Jon had raced over to her bags and returned with the Golden Oriole, when Herian started to cough her rings glowing. She had a smaller sip then Robb, but she fell over and started to cough up blood. She heard Jon calling for help but as her vision spotted she knew no more.

* * *

 **I'm sorry! But Olenna has been kicking my ass for months and I've just given up, I want this over and done with, if anyone wants to step up and help me then I will revisit the scene. Now you are all going to hate me, *preps umbrella* this is the end of this story. There will be a sequel but here is the bit where you are going to hate me, it will come out AFTER at least the Winds of Winter. While I have thoeries and plans, the fact of the matter is I need more information on the A Song of Ice and Fire front. I want to go to Old Valyria to the Land of Always Winter, I NEED to know what the White Walkers want, there is just so much I need and don't have. This story was about setting up for a Conjuction of Spheres, its ready for the real shit to hit the fan and for the world to blow up. Which will happen in the sequel.**

 **Now this actually isn't that bad a thing to do, I will be the first to admit I made A LOT of errors in this story, mostly because I went from using A Game of Thrones to A Song of Ice and Fire. This gives me a chance to clean up my mess, I already have character sheets, outlines, maps, you name it. Which I will probably release to you lot, think of it as a great housecleaning!**

 **Thank one to everyone who reviewed! And again I am sorry to do this too you, but I think I will be able to make the best story I can after I get more information. I have other stories, have at! I'm a bit of in a RWBY mindset right now but I love the lighter elements of it and the cast that lends to so very many AUs. Most of those stories can be found on Archive of Our own, I won't recommend any as they are rather niche. Be it a test for me in sheading up a characters soul and making them live with the consquences of their evil alteregos actions. Or a little study in BDSM, or a francly HUGE study in age gap pairings, types of relationships and frankly as many fun things people get to do once they hit eighteen (at least thats it where I live). Or a love story based more on the intellectual then the physcial, plus magic. I will try to revist my other Elder Scrolls stories but I am kinda burned out on them, I'm very slowly getting back into it but it will probably be a while.**

 **Again THANK YOU FOR READING! There will be more Eventually, blame Martin.**


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